Commencement
by trombonechick
Summary: Horatio hires a new CSI, someone from his past. How will she fit in with the rest of the team? RyanOC Chapter 6 up! Please Review!
1. Prologue: Graduation Day

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: My first CSI: Miami story. Reviews greatly appreciated.

Prologue: Graduation Day

May 2005

A nondescript black car pulled up to the security guard's booth just outside the entrance to the University of Florida's south parking lot. The driver's side window rolled down and a hand extended toward the guard. In it was a ticket to U of F's 2005 graduation ceremony. The guard examined the ticket, nodded, and opened the gate. The car's driver closed the window and maneuvered the vehicle into the crowded parking lot and into an empty parking space. The car's door opened and Lieutenant Horatio Caine stepped out into the warm spring air. He locked the car door, pocketed his keys, and made his way towards the nearby field, allowing himself to be assimilated into the flow of proud parents and supportive friends who were streaming toward the stage. Horatio walked, not to the rows of chairs set up for the guests, but back toward the mass of capped and gowned students getting ready to walk down the aisle. Behind the sunglasses his eyes searched the crowd for the person he had come to see. Soon he found what he was looking for- a pair of dark green eyes locked with his and a young woman made her way toward him through the crowd. As she got closer her face lit up with quiet joy, a small smile playing at her mouth.

"Horatio," she said quietly. "You came."

"I told you I would," the CSI replied.

"I'm not saying that because I didn't believe you. I've known you too long for that." She paused as the older man gave her an affectionate, fatherly hug. "I'm just really glad you're here."

"I wouldn't have missed it."

"I know."

"Is your speech ready?"

"Yes. Finally."

"And you're till not going to tell me what's in it?"

"Nope. Let's just say that it won't be your standard 'go out and make a difference in the world' speech."

"Good. You deserve this, you know."

"What?"

"Being asked to give this speech. It's a great honor."

"I… I just did-"

"Your best, I know. Your best just happens to be incredibly good."

"I…thanks."

"You're welcome." Just then the orchestra began to play the opening strains of "Pomp and Circumstance" and the students began lining up. "I'll see you after the ceremony."  
"See you. And… Horatio? Thanks again for coming. It, um, it really means a lot to me."

"It's my pleasure." With that the graduate hurried back into line and Horatio went off to find a seat.

There were songs and speeches that followed the procession, and finally the dean said, "It is now my pleasure to introduce to you an extraordinary young woman. Not only is she brilliant and talented enough to be accepted to this university at the age of fifteen, but she has overcome a great deal of hardship in her young life. That, however, is her story to tell, not mine. I am proud to announce your student speaker, Melody Carver!" The crowd cheered and clapped as the young woman, Melody, stood and walked up to the stage.

"Thank you, sir," she murmured.

"Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, and members of the staff. Thank you all for coming out here today to support these graduates, all of whom deserve recognition for their hard work these past four years," she began. "Doctor Raymond asked me to speak today because he felt that my story is one that will inspire all of you and help you overcome the obstacles that everyone must face in their lifetime. I can't say that I agree with him. My story is in no way unique, there are those out there who have faced as much as I have and more. I believe that every human being has the ability to move beyond their past, the desire to move forward, and the determination to go around or over whatever obstacles are in their path. These are all valuable traits to possess, of course, but I believe that the characteristic of humans that saves us is our need for each other. Think about it. Where would any of you be without your friends, your parents, your teachers, anyone who has influenced you? You wouldn't have gotten very far, would you? We support each other. We help each other. And some of us… well, some of us get more help than others. This is where my story comes in.

I came, as many children do, from an abusive home. I lived with my mother and my grandfather until he beat her to death when I was four. Then he beat me to be sure I wouldn't tell anyone. School became my only comfort. I practically lived there, coming home only to cook dinner for my grandfather and endure the nightly beatings until he fell down drunk. My teachers always said I was smart. It never meant much to me, except that it meant they liked me and allowed me to stay after school. I pretty much lived day to day for the first twelve years of my life. Then I ran away just after my twelfth birthday- hitchhiked from California all the way to Miami. When I got to Miami I registered myself for high school under another name. They said I was a genius, which again didn't mean much. But I was doing OK for a while. Near the end of my sophomore year, I was captured by a Muslim terrorist organization. I was walking home with my friends when they attacked. My friends were killed and I was captured. I was with them for months, until they decided to get rid of me by strapping me to a remote bomb and sending me to a Christian youth gathering. There was a guy watching through binoculars and once I was in position he was going to set off the bomb. But he didn't because the police had received an anonymous tip and the bomb squad came just in time. They saved my life and ended up finding the rest of that group.

But it didn't end there, not for me. One of the men from the bomb squad found out that I was homeless and alone. He took me in, cared for me as I struggled to recover from my time in captivity, and eventually brought me here, to the University of Florida. He helped me apply for scholarships, helped me out with my admission fees, and to this day never fails to call to make sure I'm all right.

He's not on the bomb squad anymore, but he's still out there, helping people like me as a CSI." Melody paused and looked straight at Horatio. "This man is Lieutenant Horatio Caine, and I owe him everything.

I hope that if you all walk out of here with one thing today, you leave with the knowledge that you can't do it by yourself. So stop trying. Accept help if it's offered, give help when someone needs it. Whatever else may happen in your life, you always have the option to help someone. Having a diploma doesn't have anything to do with it. Being smart or strong or good-looking doesn't have anything to do with it. You are human. That's enough. Wherever you go, whatever you choose to do, or don't choose to do, remember that.

Congratulations, class of 2005."


	2. Chapter 1: Career Options

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to daxy, my first reviewer.

Chapter One: Career Options

A little later, the same day.

_Melody's POV_

"You left out quite a bit," Horatio commented as he walked up to me after the ceremony.

"I said what needed to be said," I countered. "No need to bore them with details. Besides, if I tried to tell the whole story we would have been here all night."

"That's probably true."

"How long did it take me to tell you? A few days?"

"Bits and pieces of a few days. Things were pretty hectic just then."

"Indeed." _There was so much confusion in those next few days, when everyone was scared that there would be another bombing attempt and no one knew where the attackers had come from. I kept thinking, _they're going to find me. They're going to come after me and I'm putting Horatio in danger by staying here. _But they didn't, thank God._

The memories took a turn for the better. _ Horatio was going crazy, he wanted to be out there looking for them instead of being stuck inside, taking apart the bomb they tried to use. And then he even had to give the pieces over to CSI so they could use them._

"Do you have any particular need to be somewhere right now?" Horatio asked me, jolting me out of my memories.

"Not really. I just have to drop off the cap and gown and get my diploma."

"Excellent. Shall I meet you in the parking lot then?"

"Uh… why?"

"I'm taking you to dinner. There are some people I want you to meet."

"No, Horatio, you don't have to do that."  
"I insist."  
I sighed. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice."

_Ugh. He's in his "serious" mood_. "I didn't think so. I'll be there in ten minutes or so."

Horatio nodded his acknowledgement and turned away. He strode towards the exit as I headed the opposite direction, for the undergrads that were collecting the caps and gowns. I was almost there when my roommate Jen appeared in my path.

"Okay. Spill, Mel- who's 'tall, dark, and handsome'?"

"Excuse me?" All right, Jen's a decent girl, but does she have to be so… girly?

"Um, hello, the guy you were just with! With the sunglasses, and the jacket, and-"

"Horatio? Okay, first of all, he's about thirty…"

"Really? Well, I thought he looked a little old, but no offense, Mel, everyone seems older compared to you."

_Ugh. Not the age thing again. Ever since I came here everyone has been giving me grief because I'm younger than they are. I'm a legal adult now, but it still happens. I don't see why age matters so much…"_

"Whatever. That man, _Lieutenant Caine, _is the man I talked about in my speech. He's like my father."

"Ohh… So he's single then?" she asked hopefully.

I closed my eyes and sighed. "He's… complicated. Just let it go, okay?"

"Fine. I was never that into older men anyways." She turned and walked away, clearly upset.

_Crap. _I don't really have any social skills. I never needed them. Besides, aren't geniuses supposedto be odd and reclusive?

Ten minutes later I was in the car with Horatio, speeding off to God knows where.

"Have you given any thought to career options since we last spoke?" Horatio asked, breaking the comfortable silence in the car.

"Not really. Still ruling out the obvious- shrink or chemist."

"I see. Well, one of the people you'll be meeting tonight might be able to help you with that."

"Oh, really? And who might that be?"

"You'll see."

_Ugh. He's being cryptic again. I guess it's not a bad thing when he's at work. But still…_

A few minutes later, we got out of the car and entered a fairly average-looking diner called the Fairway Café. I followed Horatio inside and we found seats in an empty booth.

"I thought you said we were meeting people here," I commented.

"We are," he replied, looking at his watch. "And they should be here any minute."

Just as those words left his mouth, a tall, thin, dark-skinned woman entered the diner and made her way over to us.

"Hello, Alexx," said Horatio.

"Hey, H" she replied in a soothing, mellow voice. "And you must be Melody." I was startled to hear her address me by name. How did she know who I was?

"I… yes." I suspected that Horatio has something to do with this. His next words only affirmed what I already imagined.

"Melody, this is Doctor Alexx Woods. She's our medical examiner down in the lab."

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Woods."

"Oh, there's no need for that, honey. 'Alexx' is fine."

I wondered if the rest of the people we were meeting were from the lab as well. However, when I posed the question to Horatio, he answered,

"There's only one more, and no, he's not from the lab."  
I wasn't surprised. Horatio seems determined to keep me from meeting the rest of his team. I'm not supposed to meet him at work, and when we go out somewhere we never go anywhere near the lab, probably to lower the risk of being seen by any of his subordinates (or his superiors).

I never told Horatio because I know what he would say, but I really want to meet the rest of his team. _I wonder if I ever will._

"Melody." Once again, Horatio's voice shocked me out of my daydreams (which are, unfortunately, quite common when I'm off my meds). "This is Sergeant Don Lee, from the Miami-Dade Police Academy."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Likewise." His voice was rough, and I thought I saw the reason why- a knife scar on his neck, barely visible in the restaurant's dim light.

"Lieutenant Caine tells me you have degrees in both chemistry and psychology. What drove you to pursue those? Do you have a specific career in mind?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."  
"Then why chemistry? Why psychology?"

"I don't exactly know. I wanted something where I would have a broad spectrum of careers to choose from."

"I understand. Have you ever considered law enforcement? I don't see how you couldn't, being as close to Horatio as you are."

"I've thought about it, sir." _I see why Horatio wanted me to come here so badly. I know where this is going._

"And?"

"I'm not sure. It's definitely an option."

"Good. I'm glad."

Then, surprisingly, they dropped it- did nothing but make small talk the whole meal. It was incredible. But somehow, I couldn't stop thinking about the future. What did I want to do? I really hadn't done much serious thinking about it, even when I was getting ready to graduate. It's actually kind of sad.

It wasn't until after Sergeant Lee had left and Horatio had excused himself to make a call that I saw what had happened. I was mentally slapping myself for not thinking of it before. Horatio had used reverse psychology- on me, the psychology major. Pathetic.

And as a result, I found myself asking Alexx about her job.

"So, as a medical examiner, do you deal strictly with DB's?"  
"No, not entirely. If there's another victim found at the scene that's still alive, I'll go out there."  
"To examine them and see if you can use any of their injuries to help ID the killer?"

"Yes, that's part of it. I also have a bit of experience in psychology from back in med school that is useful for getting people to talk about things that they wouldn't tell to the cops or the other CSIs."

"Not to mention that the fact that you're a doctor would make people more likely to trust you than they would trust an interrogator."  
"True."

"Um, what are your interactions like with the rest of your team? Who do you work with most often?"

"Other than Horatio, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't think I work with any one person more than the others. Just whoever happens to be processing the scene when I get there."

"That makes sense."

"I think it has to be that way. When there's so much at stake you really can't afford to let favoritism affect the team's effectiveness. We work better together, this way."

"So you guys are close then. I mean, it seems like you would have to be, working so closely all the time."

"You're right on. The rest of your team are the only ones who can really understand the things you see, the things you experience. We have to be close. Otherwise, I don't know if any of us would be able to deal with things, day after day."

I nodded._ It makes sense. How many times have I felt alone because of what I've experienced? Not even Horatio, my "father", really knows what it's like. _

Just then the café's door opened and Horatio strode back in and came back to our booth.

"Did you ladies have a nice chat?" he asked, deceptively calm.

"We sure did, H." Alexx replied. If she saw anything strange in the way he was acting, she didn't' show it.

"I'm glad."

Alexx stood and I followed suit. Time to go. She shook Horatio's hand and promised to see him at work tomorrow, then turned to me. Instead of the handshake I had anticipated, however, she took a step forward to give me a quick hug.

"It was great to meet you, Melody. Good luck picking a job."

"Thanks, Alexx. I'm really glad I met you."

"I hope this won't be the last time we see each other."

"It won't." I looked at Horatio, watching carefully for a reaction. Nothing. Three years of keeping me away from the CSIs and now nothing?

But the moment passed without incident. Alexx left, and a minute or two later Horatio and I did the same. The minute we got into the car, I decided- he had won. Time to admit it.

"Congratulations, Horatio," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"You convinced me. I'm going into law enforcement."

"That's your decision to make."

"Sure." _Yeah. I don't believe that for a second. Not like it matters. He'll never admit to anything._

"Do…" I paused, not quite sure how to say it. "Do you think I could work in CSI someday?"

"If that's what you want, far be it from me to stop you."

"What I mean is, do you think I'm capable? I know it wouldn't be anytime soon, and-"

"Relax. Here's what I want you to do- sometime this week, go down to the academy and fill out the registration forms. Turn those in along with your transcripts from the university. A couple weeks later you'll be contacted and asked to come in for a series of interviews. If they deem you acceptable, you will be admitted for this fall. Complete your time at the academy- it will give you the basic skills you need and help you decide if this is really what you want. You'll also receive weapons training, a vital skill for anyone out on the streets. Then spend some time on patrol. It's good experience and you'll get the chance to do some ride-alongs with different units and attend some seminars that will give you a good background when you apply for promotion. Got all that?"

"Academy, patrol, seminars, apply for promotion. Got it."

"Good. Best of luck to you."

"Thanks."

"And don't go falling off the face of the earth either. I still want to hear from you."

"Yes sir."

"Don't give me that. You're not my subordinate."

"Yet."

A/N: Sorry this chapter kind of sucked. It's just filler. Next one will hopefully be better.

I am in need of a beta if anyone's interested. Message me or something.

To my reviewers:

Daxy: Yay! My first review! Thanks so much, that's exactly the kind of reaction I hope to get.

Rose.Ashton.Jade.Riddle.Malfoy: Thanks so much for the review! Hope this chapter doesn't make you hate me.

To everyone else:

Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever! Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	3. Chapter 2: The Tests

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Auddy, for giving me his odd version of support which basically consists of agreeing with me while I criticize my writing.

Chapter Two: The Tests

Several weeks later

True to her word, Melody was on her way down to the Miami-Dade police academy for her interviews. Things were looking good. Good enough, in fact, for her to begin thinking about moving. Not to mention the fact that she had to be out of her dorm in two days.

_But am I really ready to come back to Miami? _She wondered. _What if something happens? What if someone recognizes me? What if- No. Don't think about that. Think about these interviews. That's what matters right now. That, and those_, she thought, glancing at the passenger's seat of her battered pickup where the folder containing her transcripts lay. Her "job" folder could get her in the door pretty much anywhere. In it was her SAT scores, her resume, letters of recommendation from professors and employers, and her trump card, her ace in the hole- the results of the official IQ test she was given before she was admitted to the university. The test that proved what the teachers had said all along- Melody Carver is a genius. But it was this test that gave it meaning. Now it meant hope. It meant freedom. It meant a new start, a future away from pain and fear. Because when the people from the university saw those magic numbers, not only did they change their minds about admitting her, they offered her a full ride scholarship. And now here she is- standing outside the police academy, about to start again. And then she did it- slammed the car door, walked up the steps, and entered the building. And for the first time in her life she began to believe the old cliché- "Today is the first day of the rest of your life".

------------------------------------------------------

"May I help you?" asked the man at the front desk.

"Yes, my name is Melody Carver, I have an appointment with the head of Admissions."

"Admissions Department's that way," he said disinterestedly, pointing to his left.

"Thanks." 

It was there, just as he said it would be. He didn't, however, mention that all it was was a door and a plaque reading "Admissions".

_What am I supposed to do?_ Melody wondered. She laid her hand on the knob, paused, then changed her mind and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a voice from the inside. Melody obeyed. Inside she found a small, well-lit office with a desk that had two chairs in front of it, a couple doors that led to other offices, and, of course, the head of Admissions. The head of admissions was a woman in her mid forties, dressed in a dark pantsuit and looking a bit austere.

"Miss Carver?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please, sit down." Melody nodded and took a seat opposite the other woman. "Miss Carver, I'm Marlene Lucas, head of Admissions here at the academy."

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Likewise." And then she was all business.

"Now, the reason for this meeting is for me to get a general sense of your personality, abilities, and how well you will deal with the rigors of training. A great deal of the training recruits go through is mental. It's not all about learning how to shoot a gun. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, did you bring your transcripts with you?"

"I did."

"Let's have them, then." She took the proffered papers and sat in silence as she looked over them. "A bachelor's in both chemistry and psychology?"

"Yes, ma'am. And I'm thinking about going to the University of Miami to get my master's in chemistry as well."  
"Impressive."

:"Thank you."

"So, why don't you tell me about yourself, Miss Carver."

"All right. Um… full name Melody Clarisse Carver, born in southern California on the twenty-fourth of May 1986. I moved to Miami when I was twelve, graduated from the University of Florida with a bachelor's in chemistry and psychology, and I am now in the process of-"

"Hold on a second. Did you say you were born in 1982?"  
"No, 1986."

"That can't be right."

"I assure you it is."

"But that would mean that you're only… nineteen..."

"I am nineteen."

"But how… did you skip a couple grades in elementary school?"

"No. I, ah… I only went to high school for two years."

"Why?"

"Circumstances. I really can't give you the whole story right now. If you would really like to know, call Lieutenant Caine from CSI and ask him to meet with us."

"All right… So, you entered the university at the age of…?"  
"Fifteen."

"And they let you in with only two years of high school?"

"My whole life teachers have told me that I'm a genius. I mentioned that to the admissions people there and they gave me an IQ test to see if it was true. They must have been satisfied with what they saw because they gave me a full ride scholarship."

At this she looked skeptical. "You took an IQ test and it got you admitted to university at the age of fifteen?"

"I have a copy of the test results if you'd like to see them."  
"Please."

Melody picked up her "job" folder again, removing the needed document and handing it to Ms. Lucas, who accepted it and fell silent as she processed what her eyes were reading.

"Are these accurate?"

"As of four years ago."

"You haven't taken any others since?"

"No. It doesn't make much of a difference to me."

"Very well, Miss Carver. I think we're done here. Why don't you wait outside, someone will be along in a minute to take you to your exams."

"Exams? Are they aptitude tests or something of that nature? I didn't know there was any testing involved with the application process."

"Oh, no. These aren't the kind of exams you study for."

_Medical exams, _Melody realized. _Not good._

The first step was a physical exam, and a rather thorough one at that.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Connell," said the baby-faced man in the white lab coat. "The only purpose of this physical is to make sure you don't have any contagious diseases or any conditions that might hinder you in your training."

"Sounds fine, Doctor."

"Awesome. Okay, I'm just going to need a little information from you, establish your medical history."

"Okay."

"Okay, um… first I need your full name, date of birth, place of birth, and current place of residence."

"Full name, Melody Clarisse Carver, born 5-24-1986 in Salinas, California. I'm kind of between houses right now."

"Why?"

"I've been living on campus at the University of Florida, but I have to be out of my dorm in two days. I was going to go look for a place when I left here."

"Okay. We'll skip that for now. Later on you can call the people in Records and inform them of your address change. Moving on. Any allergies?"

It basically went like that for the next five or ten minutes. Him asking questions, her answering them when she could. She got a little antsy when he started asking about hereditary conditions and family medical histories, and she couldn't tell him much.

"I never knew my father," she said, "and my mother died when I was little. My grandparents never talked about them." When the doctor tried to press further, she just asked what this had to do with her medical profile and then couldn't they just move on? He was forced to concede, and the examination moved on. In this respect it wasn't any different from a normal physical. He examined her eyes, throat, ears, lungs, and finally her reflexes. Not too much left. Blood pressure, height, weight, etc. Nothing interesting, until the scoliosis check.

"I'm going to have to ask you to remove your shirt," said the doctor regretfully.

Melody groaned. "Isn't there any other way to do this?"

"I'm afraid not. How about you just face away from me? All I'm going to do is ask you to bend over so I can examine your spine. I'm not even going to touch you. It'll be fine, all it takes is thirty seconds."

_That's not any better,_ Melody thought. _I'm not afraid of what he thinks I'm afraid of. Whether he touches me or not doesn't make any difference. _

"Fine," she said, turning around and removing her shirt, exposing her back, bare now save for her bra. She bent over from the hips until she could slip her fingertips under her feet. All was silent. "Something wrong, Doc?"

"Uh… Miss Carver, can I ask you about these scars on your back?"

Melody was glad she was still facing away from the doctor as her expression quickly changed from mild curiosity to one of shock and lingering terror, then back as quickly as it had come.

"Not much to tell. It was an accident."

His expression was skeptical. "What kind of 'accident'?"

"The kind involving dirt bikes and cacti."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"All right. I think we're all done here, why don't you go to the next room for the last portion of this exam."

"Okay. Thanks for everything, Doctor Connell."  
"You're welcome. And best of luck to you, I think you'll make a great officer."

"Thank you."

Then, with that, she was out the door and on her way to the last part of this ordeal.

_That was close. But not a big deal. I just tell the same lie as always. That's not the part that scared me. For a minute there, I thought he was going to tell me-_ No.

Her memories slammed shut there, preventing her from losing it when she couldn't afford to. _Not now. The here and now is all that matters. Just get through this. I need this._

A psych evaluation should be the easy part. After all, Melody _was_ a psychology major- she's had the "textbook" answers memorized since her second year of college.

The next room was another small office, similar to the one Marlene Lucas had. This time, however, Melody entered with much more certainty- partially because she knew what was coming and partially to give the illusion of confidence and self-assuredness.

"Hello," she said to the man seated at the desk.

"Hello," he replied. "You must be Melody Carver."

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. Melody, I'm Doctor Cordell."

"Nice to meet you." _Polite but casual. Good._

"Please, have a seat." He motioned to the chairs across from him and Melody obeyed.

"So, Miss Carver," he began," "I see that you have a bachelor's degree in psychology."

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Why did you want to study psychology?"

"Because I… I wanted to understand people. Why they do the things they do. What makes them tick."

"I see. Why is understanding so important to you?"

"I think… it gives you an edge, you know? You can predict what people will do if you understand behavior."

"You can guess what someone will do before they do it."

"Exactly."

"I see." He paused and scribbled a couple lines down on his pad of paper. "Miss Carver, have you ever been diagnosed with any psychological conditions?"

Ah… yes. I have… PTSD."

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Yes."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"No, sir. But it won't affect my work. It doesn't affect my day-to-day life." _Is sleeping part of living? Are dreams life? I don't think so._

"All right. Is there anything else?"

"Um. I suffered some head trauma during childhood. It left me with some compulsive tendencies and a mild case of ADD.

"Any amnesia as a result of this?"

"Not that I'm aware of." _I wish. To forget… to forget would be happiness. It would be freedom. It's not for me._

"So, you have ADD, OCD, and PTSD."

"That's what they tell me."  
"And you've had these since childhood?"

"OCD and ADD, yes."  
"So all three conditions didn't result from the same incident?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sure you're aware that a condition like PTSD does not come about naturally."

"I know. You need trauma. It's what puts the "T" in PTSD."

"So you're saying you've had a traumatic experience?"

"Yes." _Several. A lot. Half a lifetime's worth._

"Anything you'd like to discuss?"

"No."

And again, the rest of the exam was standard. It was over before long, and all without any major incident.

_I think I just passed the test, _Melody thought as she walked out of the front doors into the hot, humid Miami afternoon. _But Lucas was wrong. I did have to study._

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A/N: Okay. You can't tell me that chapter didn't suck. Especially the end.

I'm really sorry it took so long. This last week has been hell. And unfortunately I'll probably be updating once a week from now on. Please don't kill me.

I'm still in need of a beta if anyone's interested, all you have to do is message me.

To my reviewers:

Rose.Ashton.Jade.Riddle.Malfoy: I'm glad you don't hate me. I hope you don't hate me now. And yes, your name is rather long.

Daxy: I'm glad you like my story so far. And thanks for calling me a great writer. Hope you liked this chapter.

N1kki1984: Thanks for the review. Hope you liked this chapter.

JauntyChick: Hola to you too. Glad you like it so far. Thanks for reviewing.

To everyone else:

Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever! Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	4. Chapter 3: Welcome Home

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

Sorry, no new chapter, I just had to change a couple things that I overlooked.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my Algebra 2 teacher, whose class I finished the rough draft in. Thanks for not taking the discussions my friends and I had about "sexual paraphernalia" the wrong way.

A/N: The text in **bold** will be Melody's flashbacks. There's going to be a few of them and I'm too lazy to keep writing "flashback" over and over.

Warning: This chapter contains mentions of prostitution as well as other things of a sexual nature.

Chapter Three: Welcome Home

Immediately after

In her battered gray pickup, Melody drove slowly through the streets of a run-down neighborhood in the Cuban section of Miami. Not exactly the kind of place anyone would put on a travel brochure. Around here the paint is always peeling and the grass is never green, but the people are closer and happier than the ones living in the big expensive houses.

_Welcome home,_ Melody told herself. She was struggling to keep her mind in the present. It was too easy to let herself slip into the confines of memory here. Every street, every corner held images and feelings too dangerous to touch.

_The houses look different from the road,_ Melody thought. _I've never seen them from this perspective before._

**A young Melody walks slowly down the street, worn tennis shoes dragging as she inhales the dinnertime odors from a dozen different kitchens. She closes her eyes, letting her legs guide her body while her mind takes over the rest of her senses. The path home won't be changing anytime soon. The late fall air is not exactly cool, but it's a relief from the sticky heat that has plagued the city all summer. Clattering of silverware on plates and chatter in a multitude of languages drifts out of open windows.**

**Her eyes open now and she waves hello to a trio of women standing outside the nearest house. The homes in this neighborhood are small compared to most of the ones in the city, but they're pretty big to a twelve-year-old girl who-**

_No. I can't let myself walk that path. The here and now is what matters. Here and now. Nothing else._

She wrenched herself out of her past and focused on the road. _Just keep driving. It's not far now._

It was only a couple minutes later that her mind staged another revolt.

_**Not far now, **_**Little Melody told herself. **_**Almost there. You can make it. Just keep going. **_**Her legs burned with the effort of running so hard with her heavy backpack.**_** Faster. They're catching up.**_** She could hear them behind her, gaining on her with their longer legs and greater strength. **

"**Get back here, bitch!"**

"**It'll be easier for you if you stop!"**

"**We only want what's ours!"  
**_**Stop,**_** her body tells her. **_**No, run,**_** argues her mind. **_**You can do it. Keep going. Dodge. Hide. This is your territory, not theirs. They don't know where to look. **_**Her eyes searched frantically for a hiding place while her body poured its last reserves of energy into her legs.**

_**There!**_** Around the corner- an empty lot filled with junk- big junk. Kids played endless games of hide-and-seek there. It's perfect.**

**So close to freedom, Melody stopped looking where she was going. All she saw was that corner. So close- fifty feet, forty, thirty, twenty- **

**Thud. She hit something solid and went sprawling to the ground, pulled down by the weight of her backpack.**

_**I hit something. What did I hit? Oh no I stopped they'll catch me they'll catch me and they'll hurt me and I didn't do anything and-**_

"**Hey, are you all right?" The voice came from above her. It wasn't something, but some**_**one **_**that she had hit. **

"**Yeah." She rolled over and sat up- her backpack had slipped from her shoulders- just in time to see a tall young man standing between her and the three boys who had been chasing her. **

"**Hey man, thanks for stopping her," said the first one, big and blond and obviously out of place here.**

"**Yeah, she runs pretty fast for a little shit," agreed the second, smaller and dark-haired but still obviously white in a place where being white put you in the minority.**

"**What do you want with her?" asked her protector in a deep, slightly accented voice.**

"**Hey, that's none of your business, man." The boys were angry now- their prey had been threatened.**

"**The hell it isn't. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't your turf anymore. We look out for our own here. And **_**no one**_** stands by and lets an innocent girl get beat up, or worse.**

"**Are you threatening us?"**

"**If you don't leave- right now- I will be." The three boys looked at each other, then over at their opponent, and finally behind him, at Melody.**

**They must have decided that he was serious, because they started to back off.**

"**You got lucky, bitch!" they yelled from a safe distance.**

"**You better not pull any of that crap again!"**

"**Get out of here!" Dark-Haired Guy yelled.**

**It worked. They turned and ran. After they were out of sight, he turned around and looked at Melody, his dark brown eyes full of concern.**

"**You sure you're all right?"**

"**Yeah. I'm fine." **_**Why is he so concerned? This is none of his business. Why didn't I run while he was preoccupied?**_

**Just then the door of the house closest to them opened and a girl of roughly eighteen stuck her head out.**

"**Eric!" she called, "Mami wants you to come help with dinner- and don't you dare say that it's women's work!"**

"**Just a minute, Mari, I'm coming!" he replied in an exasperated voice. He turned around again, only to find that he was standing alone on the sidewalk. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Hey!" he called, "Where'd you go?"**

"**She ran away," said his sister teasingly. "Probably wanted to get away from the ugly."**

**Eric rolled his eyes as he walked into the house.**

"**Shut up. Marisol," he said as he closed the door.**

**Around the corner, Melody was leaning against the fence, panting quietly. Too much had happened in the last ten minutes. **_**What if they had caught me?**_** She wondered.**_** What if they-**_

_STOP. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Pay attention._

She had reached the final corner. She turned right, and there it was- a run-down apartment complex, the kind of place that would have the average middle-class white citizen quaking in their expensive, well-maintained boots. Melody parked across the street, crossed without incident, and was about to knock on the door of apartment 1B when her cell phone rang.

"Carver," she answered.

"Melody, it's Horatio."

"Hey. What's the occasion?"

"I just received a call from the head of the Admissions Department at the Academy. Ms. Lucas requested that you and I meet with her."  
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. During my interview with her she inquired about some aspects of my past, and I told her that if she wanted the full story, she should talk to the two of us together."

"Ah."

"I just… didn't really want to tell it all by myself." _I never had to. Horatio was always there with me. I don't know if I _could _do it without him._

"I understand."

"Thanks."

"She requested that we meet with her tomorrow morning."

"Okay."  
"Good. So, nine o'clock tomorrow."

"I'll be there."

"I almost forgot, have you found a place to stay in Miami yet?"

"I'm about to go deal with that right now."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"All right. See you tomorrow."

"I'll see you."

Melody hung up and, picking up where she had left off, knocked on the apartment door. A minute later it opened, revealing a thin, graying man, not unattractive in a had-been-handsome-twenty-years-ago kind of way. He was the landlord, a Cuban in a land of Cubans, and powerful.

"What is it?" he asked in accented English.

"Ramón, you don't remember me? _Not good. Not good at all. He'll beat me to a pulp if he thinks he doesn't know me._

"Wait… no. No, it can't be."

_Oh, thank God. He remembers._

"It's me, Ramón."

In an instant his demeanor changed. His grumpy, imposing features were transformed by excitement and shock.

"Katy! Meja! Where have you been?" He grabbed her in a bone-crushing hug that belied his seemingly emaciated frame. "What happened to you, chica? Everyone thought you were dead! You disappear off the street, the cops show up asking about you, people get worried. And those cops- they show up here, flash their badges and tell me to show them your apartment. I had to do it, meja. Didn't want to."

"It's OK, Ramón. I'm sorry you had to deal with this."

"Did you come for your stuff? 'Cause the cops, they took it all. Said they needed it to try and find the something-something of your last something-or-other. I'm sorry, I was gonna save it in case you came back, but…"  
"No, it's OK. I got it back."

"You did? How?"

"I was with the cops." At this Ramón's eyes widened, then narrowed as his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Que pasa, girl?"

"I got… um… mixed up in something. Something big."

"What is it? Drugs? Gangs? Meja, please tell me you know better than this."

"No, it's not like that. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"For five years? You never came back."

"I went to college."

"What? How? You were just a little girl!"

"Long story."

"OK. So you're out of trouble then."

"Yes."

"Then what are you here for?" His voice was mock-angry, teasing just like she remembered.

"What, I can't just come to say hi?" she joked, glad to return to their old friendship.

"Meja, if you don't gotta be here, why would you?"

"Ramón, now you know I think that's bull. But you're right. I have to ask you something."  
"What do you need?"

"Do you have an apartment for rent?"

"For you? Sure. Actually, I think your old one's vacant right now."  
"Really?" _Oh wow. Talk about a walk down Memory Lane. I actually… don't know if I'm ready for this._

"Yep, it is. You by yourself this time?"

"Yes."

"Good. Those roommates of yours- I got the feeling that they weren't completely… you know."  
"Yeah. But you know how it is. You do what you have to. Not everyone gets life handed to them on a silver platter."  
"You know it."

_Indeed I do,_ she thought. _Now isn't the time to think about this. Got to stay focused._

"So, is it okay if I go on up?"  
'Sure. Let me go get your keys."

When he came back, Melody had out her wallet. "Rent still the same?"

"Yeah."

She pulled out a few bills and handed them to him. Ramón smiled.

"And you still pay cash."

"Indeed." Melody took the keys and walked up the familiar rickety stairs to the third floor.

Apartment 3G seemed larger now than it was five years ago, but everything else was the same. The single window covered with dark shades, the stained carpet, the ancient furniture.

She walked back to the single bedroom- she would sleep there now, instead of on the couch. The room held an underlying scent of perfume and cheap makeup. It stifled her, and she opened the window to attempt to dispel it.

Seating herself gingerly on the bed, she noticed something. _No flashback? _She asked herself._ I can't believe it. Maybe this day won't be a bad one after all. I just thought that with two already today, there would be more to come._

Melody returned to her truck to retrieve the few boxes that held almost all of her worldly possessions. She carried them back to the bedroom and set them down on the bed. She was about to start unpacking when one of the boxes tipped over, spilling stacks of clothes, textbooks, and a pair of strange-looking black shoes out onto the floor. With a sigh their owner knelt and reached under the bed. Instead of finding her Theories of Inorganic Chemistry text, however, her hand met with the corner of a shoebox. Curious, she pulled it out, opened it, and fervently wished that she hadn't. Inside was the most astonishingly disturbing mélange of sexual paraphernalia she had ever been unfortunate enough to see.

_What on earth would this be doing here? Who would leave something like this laying around?_

And then she knew.

**Saturday afternoon. Melody, thirteen, was returning from work. She let herself into the apartment, exhausted from the long hours and glad the workday was over. **

**But while her day might be over, for her roommates it was just beginning. The two older teens stood just inside the door, obviously running late. Under heavy makeup their faces wore harried expressions, while their bodies were clad in their version of work attire: cheap jewelry, cleavage-baring tops, short skirts, and strappy high heels. They appeared to be arguing over who would be allowed to work a particular corner on that night. The argument continued as they moved out the door, barely glancing at their young roommate.**

**Melody sighed once the door was closed, feeling a flash of pity for the two girls. **_**I'll never be desperate enough to do that,**_** she thought. **_** I may have lost everything else I once had, I may not be an innocent any longer, but at least I have one thing. I will never let anyone, or anything, take that from me. No person, no circumstance, nothing except my own free will.**_

_I was so wrong, _she thought. _So wrong…_

A/N: Okay. That wasn't the best way to end it. But I won't say that it sucked, you guys will yell at me. Hope you liked. Please review; it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I still need a beta if someone's interested.

To My Reviewers: 

Daxy: Thanks, It loves you too. If that's possible.

TJ: Thanks! I'm glad you liked it, I know this chapter will probably only leave you with more questions, but they will get answered eventually… in, like, the 30th chapter. I've got a long ways to go.

JauntyChick: I promise to stop saying that it sucks. I hope you liked this one.

By the way, you remind me of my friend. He also yells at me for ragging on myself all the time.

Rose.Ashton.Jade.Riddle.Malfoy: pants in exhaustion from typing incredibly long name Ha ha, just kidding. Thanks for reviewing.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.

P.S. I hate finals.


	5. Chapter 4: A Day in the Life

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my real-life friend Andrew, off of whom the character Andrew is based.

Chapter Four: A Day in the Life

Ten Months Later

Melody's POV

_It's dark. But it's hot. So hot, stifling, smothering. It can't be night. Not even Miami nights are this bad. _

_Voices. Words in another language- a language of guttural, staccato barks. Men's voices._

_Day, then. But why so dark? My eyes are open. Oh. Cloth, on my face. A blindfold._

_I need to see. I need to know where I am. Have...to...see. Can't get the blindfold off- my wrists are tied. The cord is doubly rough, coarse to begin with, and worse against raw wrists chafed bloody. _

_Can't breathe. My chest is tightening. No, not my chest. Another rope. My upper arms are bound too. Thighs, ankles. What's happening?_

_Can't see can't hear can't feel. What's going on? This is torture._

_Footsteps. Got to do something. Scream. Yell._

"_Who are you? What do you want with me?"Footsteps stop by my head._

"_Quiet." One word. Deep manvoice. Strange accent._

"_Let me go! I didn't do anything to you! Why did you take me?"_

_Swish- leg. Thump- head. Thud- floor._

_Darkness._

Darkness. I sat up, trembling, and reached for the lamp. Light flooded the room and I breathed a sigh of relief. I slid out of bed, feeling sore and groggy. What time is it?

Four thirty- time to get up.

A cup of coffee, a quick three-mile jog, a shower, and a bagel fixed the grogginess, but my bones still ached. Must be about to rain.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of a strange feeling. I need to be clearheaded.

Getting dressed was next on the agenda, so I removed my khaki uniform from the closed and put it on with practiced ease. Checking my appearance in the mirror, I noticed that the collar of my short-sleeved, button-down shirt was askew. I fixed it quickly, then pulled my hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of my face and off of my neck. Long hair was public enemy number one among female cops in Miami. It sticks to your face at the most inopportune of times, and everyone knew the story of Erin Menchaka, a female officer whose hair had fallen over her face during a firefight, impairing her vision. When she stopped shooting to brush it back, the gunman she had had pinned down took advantage of the opportunity and shot her. That was when they started enforcing the rule that anyone with hair longer than ten inches either had to cut it or have it pulled back for as long as they were on duty.

I forewent makeup, as I usually did. I didn't really see the point of wearing it to work, seeing as how I'm not one of those female officers that uses their looks to coerce a perp into doing what I want.

Time check- six thirty. I pulled on my socks and shoes, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out the door.

I headed for the locker room as soon as I got to work. Removing my service pistol and radio, I stashed my purse and clipped my badge to my chest, all the time making small talk with my partner. Andrew was an attractive man several years my senior, with pale blond hair and light green eyes that somehow elicited trust, even from me. He was my closest friend other than Horatio, and one of the few people who knew my story (or at least parts of it).

A couple minutes later, we headed out to the patrol car that had been assigned to us the day we became partners. A game of rock-paper-scissors determined the driver for the day (me), and we headed off.

Four hours later, and we had seen nothing but a couple erratic drivers, a prostitute, and a teenager buying marijuana. Standard fare. We were about to give up and go for an early lunch when a minivan came speeding up the street we were watching. Immediately, reflexively, I flicked on the lights and siren and pulled out onto the street behind the speeder. The driver pulled over almost immediately, causing Andrew to let out a groan of annoyance.

"So much for a high-speed chase."

I hushed him and got out of the patrol car. I started to walk up to the minivan, but as soon as I did, its driver started the vehicle up again and sped off. I swore and ran back to the car, jumping in and following as fast as I could.

"Finally, a little excitement," my partner remarked.

"Oh, be quiet."

A minute later the minivan pulled over again, and I followed. I didn't want a repeat of that scene, so I stayed inside the car and turned on the loudspeaker.

"This is the police. Please step out of the vehicle." He didn't.

"No!" The voice was masculine, and more scared than threatening. A good sign.

"Sir, you need to step out of the vehicle right now."

"I can't!"  
"Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?"

"No."

"Then why can't you leave the vehicle?"  
"I just... I just can't."

"Don't move." I turned off the loudspeaker and got on the radio. "Dispatch, this is unit PT-107. We have a driver here who's refusing to leave the vehicle, and when I tried to approach him he drove away."

"Do you need backup, 107?" I was about to reply when I noticed that Andrew was no longer in the car- he was sneaking up on the driver, weapon drawn.

"Hold on a minute, dispatch." Andrew was crouched below the window, in the driver's blind spot. When he reached the front seat he stood, aiming his weapon at the driver.

"Hands off the wheel," he said. Then I saw him flinch a little, a shocked expression on his face. He waved me over, and I came quickly. I had my weapon drawn, but by the time I got there Andrew had put his away, meaning that there was no threat. As soon as I got a good look at the driver, everything made sense- his reluctance to get out of the car, Andrew's expression.

He was dressed as a woman.

"I'm sorry, officers," he was saying. "But don't you see why I didn't want to be seen?"

"Um..." Andrew was fidgety and obviously a little wierded out. I, however, was all business.

"May I see your license and registration, sir?" He handed me the appropriate documents and I, in turn, handed him a speeding ticket. "And next time, sir, just stay put. You don't want to get slapped with any additional charges."

"Okay, thanks, officer."

"You're welcome."

We finished our business and were about to let him go when my radio crackled.

"Unit 107, is everything all right? Do you need backup?"

"Negative, dispatch, everything's been taken care of."

"Roger that, 107. Dispatch out."

"What was that all about?" Andrew asked.

I waved to the cross-dressing man before answering him. "I thought that guy was going to be trouble, I was about to request backup when you pulled your weapon on him."

"Oh."

Then we looked at each other, and as one, we burst out laughing. We were still laughing as we sat down to lunch at the local Subway. Then, just as we were about to start eating, Andrew stopped, looked at me, and said in a solemn voice,

"Melody? I think..."

"What?"

He paused, and then, completely serious, said, "I think that man was my sixth-grade math teacher."

--

A/N: Okay, that chapter wasn't too great. It was mostly filler, and a way to introduce the character of Andrew. He will be important a little later on. I felt kind of weird about it, having it be all serious in the beginning and ending up so funny. I didn't mean for it to turn out like that.

About the cross-dressing man- I got the idea from some documentary. There was actually a scenario like that, but I don't think he was speeding.

So, yeah. Hope you guys liked it. Please review, it makes my life suck a little bit less. I'm still looking for a beta if someone's interested.

To My Reviewers:

Daxy: Here's another one for you. Thanks for reviewing.

JauntyChick: I'm excited that you like this fic so much. It makes me happy. You're right, Melody's story is definitely intriguing. Even for me- and I made it up. Every time I sit down to write, a little more of it becomes clear to me. It's really a cool experience.

i.love.singing: Nice new penname. You sing? I'm in choir but I suck. I'm so glad finals are over, even though they didn't seem as hard this year. So either I'm really smart all of a sudden or I'm so stupid I didn't realize they were hard.

TJ: It's a vicious circle, isn't it? Glad you're still interested.

Leaf in the breeze: I'm glad you liked. Hope this chapter keeps you interested! About your other question thingy- I'll message you about that separately.

LSG: Hmm… I think my little sister started watching it over the summer or something, she will watch just about anything. Then I started watching it with her and I was liking it a lot(but I would never tell her that, she's one of those little sisters who imitates everything you do and it would drive me crazy). But now here I am.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your questions, comments, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	6. Chapter 5: The Night Shift

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my beta, leaf in the breeze. You rock!

I do not mean for anything in this chapter to be offensive to anyone. If it does offend you, I'm very sorry.

Chapter Five: The Night Shift

A few months later

"Hey, you want to play a game?" Melody asked her partner one night, as they sat in the patrol car bored out of their minds.

"Sure, what game?" he asked groggily.

"It's called the make-up-stories-about-the-people-walking-by game."

"All right. What do you do?" She turned and looked at him, slightly incredulous.

"You make up stories about people you see walking by," she explained with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"Oh… okay." He blushed slightly; finally aware of what had just transpired.

"You go first," Melody instructed, sans sarcasm.

"Okay. I pick… that guy." He pointed to a heavyset man that was getting into a car a few feet away from them.

Melody nodded, then looked hard at the man's face and glanced at her partner.

"Uh, Andrew? I think that was a woman."

"Even better. Okay, manlady's name is…" he trailed off, trying to think of a woman's name with slightly masculine connotation.

"Martha." He nodded.

"Martha, and she works as a bouncer to try and save up money for a sex change operation."

"Andrew, that's horrible!"

"Wait, wait, I'm not done. She likes to go on chat rooms and pretend she's a man. She has a girlfriend named Brittany. They talk via webcam and they've never met in person. As far as Brittany knows, Martha is a man named Martin."

He had to stop there, because by that time both of them were laughing to hard to talk.

"Okay, okay," Melody gasped. "That was good."

"Your turn now."

"Okay."

"Do that girl!" He pointed across the street to a skinny blond girl in a miniskirt.

"Ooh, she is so a prostitute!"

"No, she's not! You think everyone's a prostitute!"

"Everyone is a prostitute, if you think about it."

"Oh, not this again, please. It's far too late to listen to this speech."

Melody carried on, despite her partner's protests. "Everyone either has or is willing to give up something of themselves to someone in exchange for something else. It may not be sex, it may not be money, but still…"  
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before. Get on with the story."

"Okay." Melody paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was almost monotonous, as though she was attempting to distance herself from the words she was speaking. "The girl's name is Elaine. She's eighteen. She's been on the streets since she was twelve. She became a prostitute because it was the only way she would be able to eat. She hates it. She lives with another girl, an older prostitute, who 'encourages' her, basically, forces her to keep selling herself. She pretends she's all tough, but she's just so beaten down by life that she doesn't have much left to care about. She probably won't last much longer…" she trailed off, her eyes focused on some point beyond Andrew's face.

"Melody? What's the matter? Do you know her?"

"No. It's just… something from my past."

"Was that… Was that you?"

"No." There was a silence between the two, her remembering and him wondering.

"My roommate. Well, actually, I had two. It was her and her… I guess the term would be 'boss'. Not her pimp, but she was the one who made sure she was still making her quota." She paused and sighed. "Everything I said was true. I was her confidante. I would come home after school, when they were asleep, and I would hear her talking in her sleep, crying out. Or I'd catch her, um…" she stopped and looked down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its bit of confidence. "With a knife, or a razor blade, or her house keys. Cutting herself. She kept trying to kill herself, and I was always the one who stopped her. And then when I left, there was no one left that cared about her. When I came back from college, she had disappeared. No one could tell me where she was. She's probably dead."

"Oh… that's terrible. Were you two close?"

"No. But I felt sorry for her, you know? It's not fair, that her circumstances forced her to do what she did, or that they kept her there. I wanted to protect her, kind of, because I was the only one who was free from all of that."

"I'm sorry."  
"It's not your fault. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"That's what friends are for._ I thought I knew her,_ Andrew said to himself. _But it seems like every time we talk, a little more of her past reveals itself. I wonder if I'll ever_ really_ know her._

"Hey." She touched his arm and spoke as though she had read his mind. "I know it's confusing you, hearing all this stuff little bits at a time. But it's not because I don't trust you. I do. It's just… it's hard for me to open up to people. I'm too hesitant to get close, because it seems like every time I do they're taken from me, or I from them. It seems easier to stay distant, keep myself safe, but I just can't…" She trailed off, staring at her feet and shaking her head.

"Hey," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm never leaving you. I promise."

"You can't make that promise. You can't see the future, you don't know what could happen."  
"I promise," he repeated. "I'm your friend, your partner. I've got your back."

Melody was touched. "And I've got yours," she vowed.

For a minute there was a comfortable silence between them, then it was broken by melody's soft, emotional murmur.

"You're my best friend, Andrew. The only one I've ever had."

_Wow,_ he thought, touched and filled with sympathy._ Her only close friend? That's… Wait. That doesn't make sense…_

"What about that guy- Hamlet or-"  
"Horatio?"

"Yeah. What about him? From what you've told me, the two of you seem really close."

"Well, we are, but Horatio's more of a father figure. I care about him more than anyone in the world-no offense."

"None taken. He seems like an incredible person."

"He is. He's completely selfless- he does things for others no matter the cost to himself. One of the reasons he makes such a great CSI is because he really cares about the victims, you know? And the way he always seems to know what to do… his team would probably follow him off of a cliff, if he asked them to. And that's another thing- he never asks anyone to do anything that he wouldn't do himself. He doesn't lead from behind. He's out there with the rest of them. I guess you'd call it charisma, the way he is with people. It's hard to find someone who doesn't like him, unless you go to the prison, and see all the people he's put away. I don't know… he's just…"

"Wow."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on and on like that."

"It's okay. If half of what you said is true, I'd probably do the same thing."

Melody smiled. "You should meet him sometime. I'm sure the two of you would get along great."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

----------------------------------------------------

A/N: So? What did you think? This one was kind of the opposite of the last one- it started out funny and ended up serious.

I hope this chapter wasn't offensive to anyone. I'm not implying anything about people named Martha, or anyone else. You can blame Andrew. Except that he doesn't exist, so that might be a bit of a problem.

Okay, question for all of you readers- did anyone notice who the guy and girl from Chapter 3 were? I should have mentioned this sooner, but I kept forgetting.

To My Reviewers:

Daxy: What did you think? Was it too short? I promise the next one will be longer. And far more interesting. But I'm not saying anything other than that.

TJ: Sorry sorry sorry! I promise I won't do it anymore. I'm glad you like Andrew. On another note, I had to quit choir. No room in my schedule. Stupid swim team.

JauntyChick: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed Andrew's little story at the beginning!

LSG: I'm sorry. If your sister's anything like mine, that must suck. Glad you liked.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your questions, comments, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	7. Chapter 6: It Wasn't Supposed To Be

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

So, nobody noticed in Chapter 3 where Melody had an encounter with Eric and Marisol Delko? I was surprised. I thought you guys would be all over me for that one.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has ever died in service to their country, be it law enforcement, military, or anything else. God bless.

Chapter Six: It Wasn't Supposed To Be This Way

One year later

Melody's POV

The radio crackled. "All units in the 17th and Bay area, this is PT-171, requesting assistance at 312 Crystal Avenue. We have multiple gunmen pinned down here, shots fired, need immediate backup to control the situation."  
Andrew and I glanced at each other, and he picked up the radio to respond.

"Unit 171, this is PT-104. We have your location, ETA five minutes. Do we need to go in quiet?"  
The reply was choppy, and shots could be heard in the background. "Negative...blocked off...road...civilians..."  
Andrew looked confused. "Did you get that?" he asked me.  
"Yeah."  
"Copy that, 171. See you in five."

With lights on and siren screaming, we headed towards our fellow officers. Now was not a time for joking. Now was one of those dead-serious, all-out days that requires all of your efforts just to survive. The atmosphere in the car was urgent, charged with energy and adrenaline and heavy with the ever-prominent possibility that someone would be dead before this day was over. I contacted Dispatch as Andrew navigated the Miami traffic.

A minute or so from the house we started hearing gunfire. It sounded like a lot more than two policemen and a couple of guys with guns. It sounded big. I got that heavy feeling in my chest again, that awful cold paralysis that is fear. With a shudder I forced it away and began to prepare for what was to come. I checked my belt, feeling for my sidearm and spare ammunition. Everything was in order, as always. OCD doesn't allow you to be unprepared. I reached over, unbuckling Andrew's seatbelt and my own, preparing to spring from the car at a moment's notice if necessary. We turned onto the street, Andrew now driving singlehanded, unbuttoning his holster and drawing his weapon, double-checking everything just as I had.

"Locked and loaded?" I asked.  
"Locked and loaded," he confirmed. This was our ritual, a way of keeping ourselves in tune with each other and with reality.  
The gunfire grew louder and we could now see the house, or half of one, as it were. It appeared to be undergoing construction, and the entire front of the house was gone.

Almost time. I began counting down evenly from ten, completing the last bit of ritual. On three, Andrew skidded to a halt and the rear end of the car swung around. I kept counting. "Two." We looked at each other and locked eyes. "One." We nodded in unison and disengaged the safeties on our respective weapons. "Go!" We flung open the doors, weapons aimed and ready to fire if need be. We moved in a crouch toward the pair of vehicles blocking the driveway. At that point Andrew and I split up, him taking cover behind the patrol car and I behind a civilian car. I asked the officer that was beside me, "What's going on?"  
"There were three or four of them to begin with. We got one for sure, and there's two still shooting."  
"Any casualties on our side?"  
"Um, no. It's just me and my partner. And he's still here." He pointed to the patrol car, where Andrew had joined the other officer, who has obviously this guy's partner."  
"Yes, I can see that. Is there anyone in the house besides the shooters? Do they have any hostages? Have they threatened anyone?"  
"No, nothing. We got a report of suspicious activity and they told us to go check it out. Soon as we got out of the car, they started shooting. We're at a stalemate. They've got us pinned down, but we've got them pinned down too."  
"Okay-" I broke off, having just noticed motion inside the half-house. I fired, catching a dark shape in the side. There was a cry, and almost instantly a hail of gunfire came from the second-story windows.  
"There must be more of them up there!" cried the officer next to me. I could see at least four, all wielding what appeared to be assault rifles. Our 9mms and .38s were no match for those.  
I fired again, saw two of them go down with shots to the head, one from me and one from Andrew. Realizing that my weapon was empty, I took a second to reload, and it was then that I noticed motion out of the corner of my eye. The officer that was with Andrew was moving backward, toward the trunk of the patrol car.  
_These guys must be new. Everyone knows that's the absolute worst place to take cover._  
Andrew saw it too. I saw him turn, stop firing, and say something to the other officer, who either couldn't hear him or was ignoring him. And Andrew, being Andrew, couldn't leave the poor guy out there so unwillingly exposed. He moved in a crouch, sliding with his back against the car until he was close enough to reach out and touch the foolish young officer. He spoke quickly and urgently to the man, using his hands to emphasize his point.

Suddenly another salvo of gunfire rained down on us, and Andrew pulled the other officer down by his shirt. They huddled there, helpless, and the other officer and I fired again and again, trying to buy our partners some time.  
_The man on the left is standing still. Aim. Deep breath. In. Outandfire. _He went down with my bullet in his chest and there was silence. Andrew stands and motions the younger man in front of him. _Wait. What are they doing? They can't break cover while there are still gunmen up there! It's suicide!_

And before anything happened, I knew.

"Andrew! Get down!" My voice sounded strange in my ears. All of a sudden I was hyperaware of everything around me. The harsh, staccato tat-tat-tat of the assault rifles. The soft grunt of the young officer as Andrew pushed him out of the way. The sharp sounds of shattering glass. And finally, the unmistakable double thuds- the first one the wet sound of a bullet striking deep into flesh and the second one the softer falling of a body to the ground.

I saw everything in fine detail. The way his body crumpled to the ground, joints already too loose for a living human's. Red blood hungrily devouring the khaki of his shirt.

I forced my eyes away from him to the too-sharp outlines of gun and gunman. Fired- one, two, three. Three hits and he was blown backwards. Dead.

All was quiet. I ran to where my partner lay too still on the ground, in a pool of his own blood. Desperately I searched for signs of life, finding only blood and more blood. _Is he breathing? No. Is there a pulse? No. _I started CPR, just as I had been trained. _Ten compressions. Tilt the head back. Clear the airway. Five breaths. Anything? No. Try again. Again. Again. Again. Again, even though your arms are tired and your hands are stiff with his drying blood._

_Don't give up. Don't give up. You can't give up on him. He wouldn't give up on you. Keep trying. Keep trying,_

It was no use. _You have to pick your battles. He wouldn't delude himself. _

_He's gone._

I let my hands fall to my sides, bowing my head and closing my eyes as I struggled to contain my emotions. I could hear more vehicles arriving by the moment, but all the new arrivals seemed to know enough to give me a wide berth. So I sat there next to the slowly cooling body of my best friend, allowing a soundless montage of images to play through my mind. I saw everything, from the first day we met, the day we became partners, our first arrest, all leading up to those last fateful minutes.

I don't know how long I sat there, indulging in the luxury of sorrow. Time passed strangely there for a while, until I felt a hand on my back. I started, but Horatio was quick to calm me.

"Hey," I acknowledged dully. "What are you doing here?" He gestured behind me, where a pair of Hummers were parked and a trio of CSIs were talking quietly amongst themselves. "Oh."

"Are you all right?"

"What do you think? My partner's body is lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood." He understood. Sliding a hand around my shoulders, he walked me away from Andrew's body. I tried to resist, but Horatio kept me going.

"It's okay," he soothed. "Let my team do their jobs. Let's take a walk." He led me across the street, where Alexx was talking to two younger men, one of whom was holding a camera, and the other his kit. When Alexx spotted us, she sent the men off to the crime scene and came over to us.

"Oh, honey, what happened to you? You're covered in blood!" Her face wore a look of concern and she reached out to touch my arm, as thought I might be injured.

I felt horrible, as though at any second I might break down completely. I was barely comprehending what was going on around me, and I knew that I was in danger of going into shock. I wasn't injured, but I knew from experience that the loss of a partner was more than enough to do permanent damage. But I knew what I had to do. Put on a mask, pretend. Be smart and businesslike and untouchable. Save the falling apart for later.

"I'm fine, Alexx. It's… it's not mine."

"Whose is it?"

"It's my partner…Andrew…he was shot." I could tell from her expression that she understood.

"Oh, I'm so sorry…" She moved forward to hug me, but I stepped back and gave her a half smile.

"Watch out, Alexx. I'm evidence."

She laughed, "Good girl, Melody."

"So I take it you'll need my clothes and weapon?"

"Not now, but soon, if that's okay."

"I'll bring them by the lab this afternoon."

"Will do. You gonna be okay, sweetheart?"

"I think so."

"You ever need anything, you come find me, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Alexx."

"You hang in there now." Then she walked away, leaving Horatio and I alone. We sat down on the curb nearby, and I could tell that he had seen straight past my façade.

"Are you all right?" His dark, dark blue eyes pierced mine, and I was too tired to resist.

"I don't know… He was my best friend. There's no one in the world that I care for more. Except you, of course. It makes me remember things, you know? I get close to someone, start to trust them, tell them some things, get attached, and then what do you know? They're gone… another one… I don't know how much more of this I can take…"

"I know, I know," he murmured, holding me against his chest despite my initial struggles. His soothing words and comforting embrace brought down my defenses, and for the first time in years I let myself cry. Tears slid silently down my face, soaking into Horatio's blue shirt.

I felt safe in his arms, just another little girl being held by her dad. He was the one who chased the nightmares away when the nightmares became horribly real. He tucked me into bed when my bed was in a hospital. He made me lunch when I hadn't eaten in days. He became my father when my only family was gone.

_He's the only one. The only one who's always there. And now he's all I have left._

After what must have been a few minutes (although it seemed like hours), we returned to the house. I walked Horatio through the day's events, beginning when we heard the alert on the radio and ending where Andrew's body still lay on the ground, next to a body bag. He looked small and pitiful and unnaturally still. I stared at my feet, trying to get his blank face out of my mind's eye, but I knew I would be seeing it in my dreams for years.

"**Andrew, what do you think about death?"**

"**What kind of question is that?"**

"**The realistic kind. Everyone dies. We're cops. We don't exactly have the safest jobs in the world."**

"**I know that. But why do you want to talk about it so badly?"**

"**Come on. Everyone has some ideas about death. I want to hear yours."**

"**I don't know. I mean, I was raised to believe in God and Heaven and all of that, if that's what you mean."**

"**Believe me, Andrew, I don't care how you were raised. I want to know what you think. What it's going to be like, what's going to happen to you afterwards."**

"**I don't know. A lot of people, especially around here, think that death is peace. At least that's what they tell people when their loved ones are killed. But what about the bad people who die? What about the death penalty? Are we giving them peace by killing them? I don't think that a serial killer or a rapist deserves peace."**

"**Well, what about Heaven and Hell? Being held accountable for your sins."**

"**I know. For a long time I clung to that. But then I started seeing things that didn't fit. The Bible says that if you don't accept Jesus as your savior, you go to hell, right? There's plenty of good people out there that aren't Christians, and they're a lot nicer than some Christians that I know. Do they go to Hell just because they never learned about God?"**

"**I have no idea. You're asking the wrong person."**

"**I know. That was a rhetorical question. But it got me thinking. And then I became a cop. I saw all kind of horrible things happen to people. Good people. Christians. **_**Kids. **_**Who would hurt a little kid? Why would God let that happen?"**

"**I'm going to assume that that's another rhetorical question."**

"**Yeah. But that's enough on that topic. What do **_**you**_** think of death?"**

"**Death itself? I think it's a transition. "**

"**Well, yeah- between life and death. It's about the biggest transition there is."**

"**No, it's more than that. I've always thought that the dead stay with us. So it would be more like learning how to influence the people around you without the convenience of a body, or a voice that people could hear, or any of that."**

"**Like ghosts?"**

"**Not really. I don't believe in the supernatural, or the paranormal, or any of that. I think we become more like a memory, living inside each person whose life we've touched, whether it's good or bad. And occasionally we can contact them, influence them."**

"**Like a killer who's haunted by the memory of his victims so much that he confesses?"**

"**Exactly."**

"**Then what do you do the rest of the time?"**

"**I don't know. Watch? Listen? Keep an eye on people so you know when to step in and help them out? I'm not dead. I don't know for sure. This is just what I believe."**

"**Wow… I like that."**

"**I'm glad."**

"**It's kind of comforting, you know? I've heard tons of people say that your loved ones live on in your memory, but the idea that they're more than a memory, a conscious being capable of influencing the living world, it helps."**

"**That's what I thought."**

As I came back to the present, watching Andrew's body being zipped into a bag and loaded into a van, I remembered something, and I turned to Horatio.

"He wanted to meet you."

"He did, did he? Why's that?"

"I may have told him a little about you."

"Ah."

"I always meant to bring him around sometime… I just never expected it to be like this."

"You never expect something like this to happen."

"No, you don't."

_Right, Andrew?_

-------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Okay, I have to say I'm pretty proud of this one. I think it's my best yet. But hey, that's just me. I'd sure love to hear your opinions (hint hint!)

To My Reviewers:

LSG: Thanks! You're in the band? Me too!!! Oh man, now I have a million questions for you. But anyways, it sucks that your sister is in band with you. I don't think I'd be able to deal with that.

TJ: That last chapter was pretty short, wasn't it? I was glad when this one ended up being longer. Sorry I killed Andrew before he could start anything with Melody. But if I hadn't, where would Ryan fit in? I promise, it will all make sense in the end.

Daxy: Wow, it seems like a lot of people are seeing Andrew/Melody romance going on here. I must admit that I didn't intend for it to be that way. It seems like these characters really have lives of their own, and I'm pretty much just their way of communicating with the rest of the world.

JauntyChick: Poor Andrew is right. The guy has it pretty tough. And apparently he's got feelings for Melody, which may or may not be reciprocal. At least that's the vibe I'm getting from the reviews. Now we may never know if they were meant to be…

Jag Lady: Thanks so much for the review! And for calling me classy! I feel so special…

Leaf in the breeze: I hope this one was a hit as well! Thanks for everything!

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.

And just to let you guys know, Ryan (and the rest of the team) will most likely be making their appearance in the next chapter or two.


	8. Chapter 7: Zero

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line. I do not own the song "Zero" by Hawk Nelson, its lyrics, or anything else affiliated with it.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all those left behind.

Note: the second half of this chapter will be in the form of a songfic. The _italics_ are the song lyrics and the **bold** is flashbacks.

Chapter Seven: Zero

One week later

It was nearly midnight. Melody lay in bed, in the exact same situation she had been in every night since Andrew's death- lying in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It was always the same. She would lie there for hours on end before she even began to feel tired. When she finally drifted off it would be for ten, fifteen minutes at the most before her nightmares woke her. Then she would stumble out of bed, vomit a couple times as though her body was attempting to cleanse itself, then get up and make a pot of extra-strong coffee. She would sit up until morning drinking cup after cup of coffee, reading and singing softly to quell the loneliness she felt in the pre-dawn silence.

Melody sighed and rolled over. _Might as well try for some sleep,_ she decided. _Not like that's going to happen._ Just as she was reaching over to turn off the lamp, however, her cell phone beeped.

"Hello?"

"Melody, this is Horatio."

"Hi…What's going on?"

"I wanted to check up on you. We haven't really talked since the shooting. How are you holding up?"

"You know. Lots of nightmares, not sleeping much. Lots of coffee."

"And you've taken some time off work?"

"Yeah. I had a bunch of vacation time saved up. I took a couple weeks."

"Good, I'm glad. I don't want you to push yourself. Don't expect to be able to return to normal within a couple days. It's not going to happen."

"I...I don't know if I'll be able to go back. It's just... to go back there, to start over now... I'd be assigned a new partner. I don't think I could deal with that."

"I understand. But you do need to move on. You need to start over."

"I will. Somewhere else."

"You're going to quit?" Horatio's tone was inquiring almost to the point of confusion.

"I'm going to put in for a transfer," she corrected.

"To CSI?"

"To CSI. There's nothing left for me in patrol. I'm ready."

"All right. Well, you follow all the proper protocol for that, and I'll give you a call in about a week and have you come in."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." His voice took on a gentler, less businesslike tone. "So... his funeral is tomorrow."

"Yeah. Do you think you'll be able to come?"

"Of course. The rest of the team will be there as well."

"Really? That's... why?"

"An officer is killed and we are called in. He becomes a part of our lives for a time, because his death is personal. It's close, because if this officer can die it means that we can do the same. Seeing him put to rest gives the case closure."

"I understand."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_They tell me that as a member of the law enforcement I am entitled to a military funeral. I don't have a problem with that. The one thing I do have a problem with is the bagpipes. I hate bagpipes and under no circumstances should they be played at my funeral. At nearly every military funeral I've attended, there has been a bagpipe player playing "Amazing Grace". I don't want that. My partner, Melody, has an incredible singing voice. I'd like for her to sing, if that's possible._

_That's all I want. I don't much care about the rest of it._

_-Andrew James Bunker_

The flag-covered coffin was carried slowly to the side of the grave by half a dozen uniformed men. They set it down gently and saluted as more officers began folding the flag. When finished, it was handed to Andrew's mother. She pressed it against her chest and sobbed, as her husband put his arm around her shoulders. Melody, who was standing near them, shifted uncomfortably.

Seven officers raised their rifles and fired into the air. Strange, for them to pay tribute to a gunshot victim with guns. Soon the echoes of the last shots had faded into an expectant silence.

A uniformed patrol officer separated from the crowd and took the place normally occupied by a man with bagpipes. Melody, for of course it was her, stared out at the gathered mourners, her gaze finally resting on a group of five or six. She only recognized a couple of them, but she knew who they were. It was Horatio and the team, coming to pay their respects to a man that had been nothing to them but a dead body. Alexx was there, of course, already looking upset. Standing next to her was a taller man of probable South American descent who appeared to be praying. On his other side was a blond woman with a severe expression who kept glancing down at his hand like she was tempted to reach out and take it. The man next to her was staring down at his feet, looking uncomfortable- not in a bored, disrespectful way, more like he wasn't sure that he belonged there.

Melody took all of that in in an instant, her eyes merely scanning before they settled on the last member of the group. Horatio Caine looked right back at her, his gaze even and steadying.

At some unknown cue, Melody looked away from him, fixed her eyes on her partner's coffin, and began to sing.

_Your life's dreams are shattered, you're gone away. We've cried here for hours, 'till the hours turned to days._

"**So, have you always wanted to be a cop?"  
"Yep."  
"Really? 'Cause pretty much all kids want to be policemen at some point, but most of them just end up as mid-level executives in some giant corporation."  
"Not me. It's been my dream ever since I was little..."**

_We know you regret this, leaving us here, with portraits and memories that we've held so dear._

"**Does it scare you?"**

"**No. Not really. The thought of a painful death does, but not death itself. I just... I've seen what death does to families and friends. I don't want the people I care about to have to go through that..."**

_When I hear your name, it's not the same. No matter what they say, I'm not okay._

"**How can you do it? How can you deal with so much death? Does it just get easier? Time after time?"  
"No. It doesn't."**

"**I don't know... Maybe I'm just not strong enough for this, Horatio. My partner dies, and I'm a wreck. But you..."**

_It started at zero and went different ways, now we're all out here wasting away. And if it started at zero, then how did things change? Seems like just yesterday, we were the same._

"**The dream starts and he's right here. I can reach out and touch him. He goes one way and I go the other. Then when I look over at him the distance gets bigger and bigger until I can hardly see him. And then I hear the shots and I know..."  
**

_It's been three months since you left us, so far nothing's been the same. And the question without answer is: am I the one to blame?_

"**I just can't help looking back and thinking that there's something I could have done. Maybe if I had already gotten the guy, or if I had sent Andrew the other way. If I had seen it coming sooner. If I had warned him. I just wish there was some explanation, something to blame. Even if that something is me..."  
**

_He was such a good description of a favored future man. He spoke well of other people, and they said the same for him._

"**Ma'am, your son died saving the life of another officer."  
"He did?"**

"**Yes, ma'am. He wouldn't have had it any other way. Only one of them could have gotten out alive. Andrew knew it, and he knew what had to be done. He gave his life for that man."**

"**Oh, my poor baby..."**

"**I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bunker..."**

_When I hear your name, it's not the same. No matter what they say, I'm not okay._

_**Andrew? I hope I'm not just going crazy, thinking my dead partner's living inside my head. I have to believe that you can hear me or every belief I have about death just about goes down the tubes. I read your letter, and I'm starting to regret all those times that I sang along to the radio. But I'll do it, because it was your last request. Your last request... you're gone... never coming back...**_

_Then it started at zero and went different ways, now we're all out here wasting away. And if it started at zero, then how did things change? Seems like just yesterday, we were the same._

_We were the same..._

_---------------------------------------------_

So? How was it? Good? Bad? Sad? Really really short? I'm sorry it had to be so short, but there was nothing left to say.

To My Reviewers:

LSG: Seriously? OMG! I'm the assistant drum major! I, however, do not get the pleasure of bossing my sister around. She's just young enough to escape. But anyways, hope you liked this chapter.

Daxy: It's so sad... I hope this one will bring closure to the sadness.

TJ: Thank you so much! I don't think the Eric/Marisol randomness fits in much of anywhere. Well, maybe it does. I'm not sure. She didn't know them or anything. And yes, it is important for Ryan to have his rightful place... eventually. But let's see if we can't screw with him a bit first.

JauntyChick: Yep. Sorry Andrew, but you got no chance. I wonder how he would feel about their [eventual relationship...?

Jag Lady: I'm so glad you thought it was good! I was worried that I was being too harsh, especially during their discussion about death etc. at the end. I hope I wasn't bashing Christianity too much, 'cause I really didn't mean to. I'm Christian, but I try not to let that show in places that it shouldn't.

Leaf in the breeze: Thanks! Man, I must be pretty oblivious if I can't see the sparks between my own characters in my own writing.

Blackdragon189: Yep, that was them. I'm not sure exactly why I put them there. I hope I find out later, 'cause right now it's kind of driving me crazy. Anyways, thanks for reviewing, hope you'll stick around to see what's coming. I'm glad you like what you see so far.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	9. Chapter 8 Part 1: Decisions To Make

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line. 

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my CAHSEE buddies, Stephen and Jacob, for entertaining me during the world's most boring standardized test.

Oops. I should probably note at this point that Natalia Boa Vista will play absolutely no part in this story. She's gone. I don't know why, I don't know where she went, all I know is that I don't like her and have no intention of putting her in here. Yeah. That's all.

Chapter Eight: Decisions to Make

A couple weeks later

"Miss Carver? This is the front desk with your wake-up call."

"Ha, ha, ha," said Melody sarcastically. "Very funny, Horatio. Too bad you're two hours too late." 

"Why on earth would you be awake at four o'clock?"

"I'm an early riser. And, you know, I might...possibly... have a giant case of nerves."

"Ah. Don't worry about it. No matter what happens, I'm the one making the final decision."

"Really. Even concerning your own kid? Somehow I don't think the higher-ups will be too keen on that."

"I see your point."

"Well... I guess technically you don't have to say anything. We're not blood related. No one would know."

"No... It shouldn't be my decision to make."

"You're probably right... but who's going to do it, then, if you can't?"

"That... is for you to find out. In three hours."

"Right. I'll see you then."

Melody sank back down onto the bed, fighting the weight of her eyelids that falsely promised sleep. She was exhausted from a restless night and had yet to fully wake up. Her hair, still damp from her recent shower, dripped water down her shoulders and onto the towel she had wrapped around her body. With a groan she got up from the bed and began rummaging through her meager wardrobe, searching for anything that might be acceptable for a job interview.

Briefly her hand rested on the only skirt she owned, a calf-length tan dress skirt she had bought many years ago for just this purpose. she started to pull it out of the closet, then changed her mind and replaced it. 

_I get the feeling that I'll need to be comfortable, _she thought. _Whatever it is that Horatio has planned, I get the feeling that it won't be a terribly good idea to do it in this._

Paging through the assortment of clothing like she would the pages of a book, Melody scrutinized each item as though it might be a dress shirt in disguise.

"What is this still doing in here?" she said out loud as she came upon her patrol uniform. "I guess I could..." _Oh, come on,_ she told herself. _That's pathetic. But then again, so's my wardrobe. It'll be a last resort. _ She resumed her slow, methodical search, opening shirts and patting down jeans. And then it hit her. Literally. The wooden rod that had held her clothes slipped out of place and fell directly on top of her. Startled, Melody stepped back, tripped, and fell backwards as the closet's former contents piled down on her chest. With a growl of frustration she sat up, shoving clothes onto the floor. The last item to be removed was a black blazer, and she stumbled to her feet as she realized exactly what it was that she held.

_"The Biscayne High School Jazz Festival is pleased to welcome our next competitor, the Grove High School "A" Jazz Band. They will be competing in the high school- novice advanced division under the direction of band director Cathy Rogers."_

_There were ripples of polite applause as the musicians entered the auditorium and began setting up. Amplifiers were plugged in and sound-checked, music was placed on stands, and the band members began to take their places. Five saxophones in the front, four trombones behind them, various rhythm players off to the side, and, in the back, four trumpets. Among them was a young Melody, in the position of lead trumpet. She wore a black blazer over a barely-visible green undershirt and black pants. Her bandmates around her fidgeted, but she stood absolutely relaxed as the director stepped up to the microphone to announce the first song._

_"Our first tune will be _A Night in Tunisia _by Dizzy Gillespie, featuring soloist Katy Lewis on trumpet."_

_The director turned toward the band and Melody, alias Katy, raised her instrument to her lips. Everything was in the set player's hands now, and every person there waited anxiously for his cue._

_The only sound in the room was the sharp, precise clicking of sticks. And then, the countoff. _

_"One! Two! One, two, three, four!"_

"Any idea what this is about?" asked Calleigh Duquesne.

"Probably something to do with IAB," replied Eric Delko.

"Again?"

"You know Stetler. Never misses an opportunity to mess with Horatio," Alexx Woods chimed in.

The last team member to arrive was Ryan Wolfe.

"Did I do something I shouldn't have... again?" he asked nervously.

"I don't think so, honey," Alexx soothed. "They wouldn't have called in the whole team. We're not that cruel."

"Oh. Good." He relaxed a bit and fell silent.

All four of them turned toward the door as it opened yet again. Horatio entered the room in his typical quiet and calm manner, followed closely by an unfamiliar young woman. The lieutenant looked at the faces of his team members one by one. Three of the four were identical, and he could practically hear their thoughts. Who was this woman? FBI? CIA? IAB? Some other part of the "alphabet"? They would all be fearing the worst. Only Alexx was calm, because she, of course, knew exactly who it was. She and Horatio exchanged a look unnoticed by the rest of the room's occupants.

Melody felt a bit of déj� vu as she studied the faces of Horatio's team members, possibly her co-workers, for the second time. This time, however, was under much better circumstances, and she was able to see their faces free of sorrow for the first time. The first emotions she picked up on were, of course, confusion, because they had no idea who she was. Beneath that was a general sense of anxiety, nerves, and even hostility, all directed toward her. Absently she wondered what it was that had them all on edge like this, but before she could begin to think on it, Horatio began to speak.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for responding to my calls on such short notice. I'm sorry for pulling you all away from your work for no apparent reason, but I assure you, I'm not just playing around. I would like to introduce to you a young woman whom you may know if not by name than by face. You will probably recall that we attended a funeral for her partner, Andrew Bunker, several weeks ago."

"The shooting in that remodel house?"

"Yes, indeed. But let us forget about that for now. For the time being, this is Melody Carver, a patrol officer that has applied for transfer to CSI."

It was shocking to see how fast the CSIs' attitudes changed. All the hostility was gone, replaced by an honest curiosity. And Melody relaxed as well, as soon as they had moved on from the subject of her former partner.

"Melody," Horatio continued, indicating each of his colleagues in turn, "this is Calleigh Duquesne, our ballistics expert."

"How do you do?" asked Calleigh in her southern accent as she extended her hand. Melody shook it gratefully as she returned the casual pleasantry, then turned to the man that Horatio was now indicating.

"This is Eric Delko, the only CSI in the county that's capable of processing an underwater crime scene."

"Hi." This time it was Melody who took the initiative and offered her hand. Eric took it with a friendly smile that quickly turned to an expression of surprise at the strength of her handshake. Melody grinned, half in sympathy and half in mischief.

"Nice to meet you, Eric."

"Don't go hurting the poor boy, Melody," came a voice from nearby.

Melody turned. "Hey, Alexx!" The older woman hugged her tight and she returned the embrace with equal entusiasm.

"How're you doing, hon?"

"Fine, now that I'm here."

"That's a cop-out. We'll be having a talk later."

Melody made a face. "Oh no, now I'm scared."

Horatio cut in on thier conversation with a small smile. "All right, you two can catch up later. But right now, Melody, meet Ryan Wolfe."

Melody looked up and felt her chest tighten as she met his eyes. Her mouth went on autopilot for a minute, smiling and saying hi without a thought as her mind went into overdrive.

_He's...attractive. Extremely. I understand that much, but why is he affecting me so much? A good-looking man shouldn't matter to me, and yet I'm finding myself feeling things I haven't felt since..._

She forced herself away from those thoughts, instead asking a meaningless question.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't...think so..."

"Wait a minute- do you play the bass?" Her inquiry was met with only confusion. "Come on... bass guitar? No? Because you look exactly like one of the bassists from this... never mind. Sorry about that."

By then, she was sure that she had completely made a fool of herself, and all she could do was shut up.

"It's okay."

"It's nice to meet you, Ryan Wolfe."

Ryan looked as though he was about to say something, but Horatio spoke before he could.

"Excellent. Now that we've finished with the introductions, allow me to explain to you what's going on here. Now you all are aware that Miss Carver has applied for a position here in our lab, correct?"

"Yeah, but why are we meeting her now?" asked Eric. "Have you already hired her?"

"No, Eric, and that is exactly why all of you are here. I have a... personal connection with Miss Carver and therefore I am not fit to make this decision on my own."

Calleigh understood. "You want us..."

"Indeed. Miss Carver will spend some time alone with each of you in turn- shadowing you, if you will./ At the end of the day I will meet with you again to discuss your impressions of her. Any questions? Well then, Calleigh, why don't you take Melody first. Just send her on whenever you're finished."

"Got it." With that, the team members went back to thier jobs and Melody followed Calleigh to the gun lab.

"I don't suppose you have your sidearm with you," said the ballistics expert.

"I have it," Melody replied, removing the weapon from her jacket and handing it butt-first to the other woman. Once the two of them had entered the lab, Calleigh moved to the empty table and stripped down the handgun in record time. Each piece was lain down and examined closely.

"How often do you clean your weapon?" she asked as she scrutinized the parts before her.

"About once a week, and after I fire it."

"Good. And how long have you had it?"

"Since I joined Patrol, so over a year now."

"You like it? Is it a good fit for your hand?"

"Yes, for the most part."

"Good. Here, put this back together and we'll do some shooting."

As they went about their separate tasks, Calleigh started to make small talk, hoping to quell the nervousness that she was sure the younger woman felt. Inevitably, the question came:

"What's your connection with Horatio?" Immediately Calleigh saw her tense and began to regret the inquiry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so abrupt. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's all right, you just caught me off guard. I guess I should probably clear up any questions now, so maybe there won't be any rumors going around that I'm his illicit lover or something of that nature."

The CSI grinned, and Melody saw genuine warmth in her eyes for the first time.

"I never really thought about it like that, but you're probably right."

"Who's more fun to gossip about than the new girl, right? Although I must say, some of the rumors can be quite amusing. For example, did you know that you're sleeping with Cooper from AV?"

"I... I _what?_ Where on _earth_ did you hear that?"

"I just heard it in passing, when I was here a couple weeks ago."

"When you were here... oh." _Her partner was shot by those drug traffickers. How horrible it must be for her to be here, knowing that all these people investigated her partner's death, they saw him lying naked and cold on Alexx's table, they test-fired her weapon and went through her clothing, and now her future here depends on people who knew her intimately for a time, in a strange way._

Melody spoke again, just to get the conversation away from such an awkward area. "So, Horatio and I..."

"Right."

"Horatio... is my father." She paused for a moment to let this announcement sink in (and to watch the baffled expression on Calleigh's face). "Not my biological father, obviously. We just kind of adopted each other."

"Oh. I see. I think."

"I'm sorry I can't be more specific but," she made a face and spoke sarcastically,"that information is _classified_."

"Oh. Well, shall we?" Calleigh gestured to her test-firing range, where a target had been set up.

"Absolutely."

To make a long story short, they did. 

"You're quite a good shot," Calleigh remarked as she walked her new friend to the garage in search of Eric.

"Thanks." She smiled a little wistfully. "Andrew always made fun of me, said I was so bad I couldn't hit the water if I was drowning in the middle of the ocean."

Calleigh chuckled. "Your partner?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I know it's tough to lose someone like that."

"Thanks."

"Is..." she paused, not wanting to sound rude. "Is that why you transferred?"

"I'd been planning on making the switch anyways, but after he died I just couldn't go back."

"Well, the circumstances kind of stink, but I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, I'm glad I'm here too."

"Well, here's Eric. I'll see you later."

"All right. It was nice meeting you, Calleigh."

"Likewise." The two shook hands and parted ways. Melody turned around and entered the garage where Eric was processing a dark blue Honda Civic that had been found on the roof of a school with a body trapped under the front wheels. The CSI looked up as she entered the room and greeted her with a smile.

"Hey. Ready to get your hands dirty? I'm not sure if I'm technically allowed to let you work a case, but I don't see the harm in it and Horatio says you're qualified, so just don't tell IAB about this, OK?"

"I would never."

"Awesome. There should be a spare lab coat over there," he waved at a small closet,"and some gloves," he gestured vaguely," somewhere."

A few minutes later Melody was working alongside Eric, dusting the door handles and interior for prints. Occasionally the inexperienced hopeful CSI would glance over at her companion and watch him for a second, just to make sure she was doing things correctly.

"So what's the story with the car?" she inquired.

"Someone stuck it on the roof at one of the local high schools."

"Senior prank gone wrong?"

"Looks that way. Vic looks young enough to be a high schooler, but no ID, so we don't know for sure."

"They could have turned on each other."

"Possible, but there were no signs of a struggle, and I doubt anyone would just lie there and wait for a car to be dropped on their chest."

"True."

"You get anything over there?"

"A bunch of smudging, like maybe someone tried to wipe away any prints, but they did a pretty bad job, I've got a couple of partials."

"Good. Grab that camera over there, will you?" Melody retrieved the requested piece of equipment and made to hand it to Eric, but he shook his head. "You do it."

Melody hesitated. "I'm not...I've never..."

Eric smiled. "It's a camera. You press the button, and it records the picture."

Melody rolled her eyes at him. "You don't have to be like _that_ about it." She knelt and raised the camera to her eye. Eric said nothing as she worked, snapping one picture for each print. she was done inn a minute, and she laid the camera aside, waiting for Eric's next move.

"What do we know about this car?" he asked.

"Its make and model?'

"No. What do we know about this particular vehicle, the one that we're looking at right here?"

"It has no license plates?"

"Good. What does that mean to us?"

"We can't use them to track down the owner, so we nave to rely on other physical evidence, but there isn't much to go on. There's nothing in this car that you would normally find, no personal belongings, nothing in the glove box, no trash, nothing."

'That's very true. Now, tell me what's missing here."

"Besides the plates?" she paused a minute as she surveyed the vehicle. "Nothing that I can see."

"Exactly. This car is intact, clean, in good condition. It belongs to somebody, we just don't know who."

"Well, it makes perfect sense that he would want anonymity. It's just a dumb senior prank, but I wouldn't want to risk my diploma either."

"There's nothing that says this couldn't have been cleaned after he smashed the vic."

"Also true. But which one is it?'

Eric glanced at his watch. "Maybe you'll find out. Alexx should be expecting you in the morgue about now."

"All right. Thanks for everything, Eric."

"My pleasure, Melody, and I look forward to seeing you as a permanent addition around here."

"Thanks."

"That's enough thanking from you. Get outta here- and drop that camera off with Ryan while you're at it."

"Can do."

"Don't get lost."

"I'll try. See you later." Melody grabbed the camera and headed out the door. In a minute or so she had arrived at the evidence lab, where she could see Ryan Wolfe through the glass, processing the victim's clothing and effects. Standing outside the lab, she felt the cold beginnings of nervousness between her shoulder blades. She tried to push it away and failed, instead feeling her eyes drawn to him as he moved with intensity and a certain grace around the lab, his domain.

_Why does he affect me like this? _she asked herself for the second time that day, ashamed for acting like a little girl with a crush. _Come on,_ she told herself. _Get over yourself. Go in there, do what you need to do, and leave. It's not a big deal, just give him the camera and go._

_----------------_

_To be continued..._

Hey guys, I'm really sorry I've been gone forever, this chapter was a little constipated. It's only half done now, but I wanted to at least have something up. Don't hate me.

To My Reviewers:

LSG: Trust me, there will be plenty about Ryan's OCD-ness. 

Of course I would boss her around! Actually, no, I'd probably ignore her, which is pretty much what I do at home. I hate finals too, I don't know anyone who doesn't.

TJ: Well, I can't make it easy, now can I? That just wouldn't be right, now, would it? And look for some new characters in Melody's flashbacks to further complicate things. (hint hint)

daxy: here it is! sorry it took so long to put it up!

Leaf in the breeze: yes, you did, but I don't think she took it personally.

dayamiracle: Here she is, in CSI(hopefully!) if Ryan and Alexx don't sabotage her! But they wouldn't do that, now, would they? Alexx wouldn't.

JauntyChick: thanks! please don't hate me for taking a long time with this chapter!

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your questions, comments, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	10. Interlude: This Band

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to our own dark-haired drummer, whose name shall not be mentioned here.

Warning: Severe marching band terminology ahead! I am an uber band geek and, well, it shows. If you need explanation of any word or phrase, don't hesitate to ask.

This Band

The first time I saw him, I thought he was a girl. A skeleton-skinny, broad-shouldered, curveless girl, but a girl nonetheless. And then he turned around.

His piercing dark eyes matched his hair and seemed to dissect my every pretense. That one glance convinced me that he saw me exactly as I was- twelve years old, a runaway, a street kid, a thief. A pretender. And yet, he seemed to take no notice of me.

Half sad and half relieved, I got on with the first day of band camp. My section leader gave me my new baritone, the first one I had seen since leaving home. To be honest, it was probably the only thing from back there that I missed. The cool, solid weight grounded me, allowing me to forget about the dark-haired drummer and follow the assistant drum major (a fellow baritone player) to our seats.

The morning was easy enough- scales and rhythms, which told me that as far as freshmen went, I was an anomaly. The rest of them were struggling. I was bored. The assistant drum major, whose name was Thomas, seemed impressed, and he kept me in at lunch to see what I could do. Frankly, I relished the challenge. First it was range stuff- from low B flat down, chromatically, in slow half notes, and back up the same way we had come, as high as I could. He seemed surprised at how evenly matched we were. I stayed with him up to a high B natural, but the C evaded me. Thomas took almost all of the lunch hour to test me, not that I minded. I had no food and was in no mood to socialize. So we stayed in, working 2-octave chromatic 16th notes with a metronome. We did long tones, volume, anything and everything until he saw the time and decided that it was time for him to go fulfill his assistant drum major-ly duties.

Ten minutes later we were all out on the football field for the 'marching' part of marching band. Stretches, pushups, wall-sits, and running were led by the drum major and assistant. After we had had a break, they gathered us up and went over our style of marching. Basically, you roll your feet so your upper body moves smoothly and your airstream is not affected. It made sense. We then had ten minutes with our sections to go over forward 8 to 5 (8 steps for every 5 yards) marching and marking time (pretty much just marching in place), and then we were called back. Thomas and the drum major, Miguel, spaced us out by walking off the distance (intervals) between the rows (ranks) and columns (files). This was our first experience in what would become one of our most familiar formations, the grid block. Your placement in the block was determined by section- flutes in front, then clarinets, saxophones, trumpets, mellophones, and miscellaneous low brass (tubas, trombones, and baritones), myself included. And then, surprise surprise, guess who's next? The drummers. He was there, two rows back but often closer to help out the brand-new bass drummers in a much more kindly manner than the drum captain, who was short and spastic and liked to give pushups.

The day wore on. The sun got hotter, the exercises got more complex, and we, eventually, got breaks. And during those breaks, we socialized. Yes, by "we" I am including myself. To my dismay, I learned that band guys in general are far too sexual for their own good. During the course of the afternoon, I had several guys come up to me and attempt to flirt. I guess I'm okay-looking for a twelve year old pretending to be fourteen. It was fortunate for me that I had hit puberty early. It helped me fit in with the older students, but now it was a nuisance that I quickly tired of.

I decided to do something about it. I felt a little sorry for the poor guy who came up to "introduce himself".

"Hey, what's up? I'm Aaron," he announced arrogantly. It would have been nothing if he hadn't been blatantly staring at my chest the entire time. I said nothing, did nothing except stare straight at him and wait for him to notice. Eventually he realized that something was going on and looked up. I could see the confusion in his blandly handsome face, but to his credit he managed to withstand my glare for at least a couple of seconds before his eyes fell in embarrassment.

"Katy Lewis," I said, holding out my hand, which he shook. I released him, then pointed to my face with both hands. "I'm up here," my hands moved to my chest, "not down here." I smiled slightly as he flushed bright red.

"Aaron Wilson, bass drummer. You a freshman too?"

"Yeah. Baritone."

"That's the big trumpet thing, right?"

"Close enough."

The week went by more quickly than I thought possible. It seemed like the next thing I knew, we were at the pool marking the halfway point in band camp. The entire band was there, us and no one else- no instructors, no parents, no lifeguards. This was vital, as Miguel was about to make the traditional speech that would inaugurate the new freshmen as official band members.

I felt an incredible sense of belonging as I sat there on the pool deck with Aaron and another new friend, a sophomore named Sara. Each one of us stared silently up at our portly Mexican drum major as he began to speak.

"This is the halfway point, guys," he began. "I would like to congratulate those of you that have made it this far. Several of your classmates have dropped out over the course of this week, with a little help from the first week of Grove High School's band camp, which is harder than most college bands' or drum corps'. You have stayed with us, and therefore have proven your worth as band members." He stopped for a second to let us drink in his words. "Right now you guys' families are all back at the band room, eating food and waiting around for you to get back. Not anymore. This Band is now your extended family, as any other band would be, but by the end of this week each of you will have a new family. The tradition of adoption goes back dozens of years, before any of you were born. Each senior here was adopted, as you will be. They lead the current generation here, but their family members go back to the graduating class of 1973, the first sophomores to adopt incoming freshmen. And now, every year during the second week of band camp, the families get together and make their decision about which freshman belongs where. I'll admit it, every year there's one or two freshmen that outstrip the rest, but that doesn't mean the rest of you are wanted any less because of it. And believe me, you'll know when someone wants to adopt you, just like you know when someone's "interested", if you know what I mean. And remember guys, it's first come first serve, so don't try and wait till the last second to speak for someone, it'll be too late." He paused again, as though he was trying to remember something, then shrugged his shoulders to dismiss the thought. "All right guys," he announced in his loud I-have-something-to-say voice, and we all thought he was about to let us go.

All of a sudden his facial expression, posture, and tone of voice underwent a complete change.

"Band 'ten hut!" he barked. Every one of us scrambled to our feet and locked into the now-familiar position of attention: head up, eyes front, shoulders down and relaxed, back straight, hips back, legs straight but not locked, feet together. "You are the best of the best- _we_ are the best of the best. If we are small, it is only because so few people are good enough for us. If you are here, it is because you deserve to be here, because we know beyond any doubt that you will do whatever it takes, give whatever you have to give to This Band, that you love This Band and This Band loves you, that you are pledging yourself mind body and soul to This Band. This Band will always be with you; committing to This Band is the most serious commitment you will ever make- more permanent than any tattoo, more binding than any legal document, more intimate than any marriage. And if right now you're thinking dude, you're way too intense about all this crap, then you shouldn't be here, 'cause we can't have you unless you _want_ it with your whole being, so if that's what's going through your head you better speak up or you can hold your freaking peace until you graduate, 'cause there's no getting out of it after today."

There was utter silence as the sun sank down behind Miguel's shoulders, making him and the band he represented seem far larger than life.

"This silence is your oath. Your promise that over these next four months when This Band starts wanting more and more from you until it wants everything you have, you're going to give it what it wants and then keep giving, when you've got nothing left to give and you're fueled solely by your bandmates' support and your pure love for This Band. That you're going to comply with every rule and follow every tradition without complaining. That you're going to follow every order you're given whether you agree with it or not. And I'm gonna tell you right now, there's going to be some tough spots along the way. It's not easy, it's not all fun. There's gonna betimes when you're tired and sick and hungry and miserable and overheated and in pain. But you know what? I promise you, if you give all of your best to This Band, it's gonna give it back to you when you need it the most- when you don't think you can go on anymore and you just want to give up on whatever it is, you give yourself over to This Band and let it push you through and I promise you, it will _never_ let you down.

This Band… will always be there for you. It's more loving than any parent, more faithful than any lover, more loyal than any dog, more trustworthy than any friend, more constant than _k_, more incredible than anything else you will ever experience."

"This is what you guys are a part of."

Each band member heard the finality in Miguel's voice and knew without a doubt that this was the end. Fifty-something faces stared steadily forward, discipline holding them motionless but unable to stop the tears that streaked several cheeks.

"Band Dismissed!"

The dismissal ritual was committed with even more than the normal amount of zeal as every suppressed emotion poured out of us in an emphatic, thunderous "Huh!"

The spell broke and we all scattered, stripping down to bathing suits and jumping into the clear water.

I was hanging back to remove my shoes when I saw it. One drummer tackled another, sending them both hurtling into the pool with an enormous splash. It was meant in fun, but I knew something had gone wrong by the resultant thrashing and eruption of bubbles from under the water. One drummer, the instigator, emerged dripping but unscathed and hauled himself out of the pool. There was no sign of his hapless victim, and my years of lifeguarding emerged. All of a sudden I was streaking across the pool deck in my borrowed bathing suit, diving into 13 feet of water.

He was a motionless, skeletal figure in black swim trunks- Danny the tenor player, AKA the dark-haired drummer.

There was no time. He had inhaled water and I had approximately two minutes to get him breathing. I secured my arms around his too-prominent rib cage and pushed off the bottom. He was fighting weakly, which at least meant that he was still alive, and I kicked up to the surface. Several willing volunteers (including the horrified and guilt-wracked instigator) pulled him out of the water and I followed, instructing them to call 911 as I began emergency CPR on the now unconscious boy. My hands on his bare chest, my mouth pressed against his in a grim parody of passion as I forced air in and water out. The process seemed to take hours but in reality it was probably only minutes before he convulsed weakly, spitting up water. I turned him on his side just as I had done to another countless times before (in drastically different circumstances, as these were not self-induced). I knelt by his side as he struggled to expel the water that had nearly killed him when he reflexively breathed in upon impact with his assailant.

He was still hacking when the EMTs arrived, but there was considerably less fluid and more air involved, so he seemed to be at least mostly out of danger. Still, they laid him on a stretcher and gave him a thorough examination before pronouncing him "safe" and congratulating me on my quick response. And then they were gone and things slowly went back to normal.

Nick, the drummer who had started it all, came up to Danny to apologize. He also thanked me for not allowing his stupidity to turn into a tragedy. The two of us were the band's newest celebrities, but I wanted to stay as far away from _him_ as possible. It was safer that way. But eventually the adrenaline wore off and everyone went back to having a good time.

That left me and Danny. I wanted to talk to him, just for a second, make sure he's doing all right. I didn't even expect him to know who I was, but that's okay. It's safer that way.

What I wasn't expecting was this:

"Hey... Danny?"

"Hey."

"Um, I don't know if you know who I am but-"

His voice was mock-stern. "How could I not know who you are? I owe you my life, and don't you _dare _deny it."

And then he smiled at me, that amazing smile that I will never forget; and from that moment on I was lost. Every carefully erected barrier, every denial, all the avoidance, it was all worth nothing. I fell hard, and the hardest part of it all was hiding it. But I had to, because at the end of the week he became my family, the only thing I had in the world, and I knew that I could never risk that bond. Not for anything.

I was like a storybook character, the girl in love with her best friend but unable to tell him. Except that the stories always end with him professing his love for her and the two of them riding off into the sunset or some such nonsense. And I knew that I would never have that happy ending. Happy endings belong in happy stories. My life? Not so much.

To My Reviewers:

daxy: Thanks so much! I hope this chapter wasn't a cop-out.

TJ: Glad you liked! Hope no one kills me for skipping out on the second half of that last chapter. Complications, thy name is Danny.

JauntyChick: Oh man, you have no idea how relieved I am... I totally thought that chapter was going to get some major flames.

LSG: Thanks! It's awesome that you two are so close, I sometimes wish that my sister and I could have that kind of a relationship. But our personalities just clash way too much.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your questions, comments, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


	11. Chapter 8 part 2: Lookalike

Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the author of Timeless Sands. Which is a book. Not a fanfic.

No, I didn't drop off the edge of the earth. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this up, my life's been pretty crazy lately. I've got a major case of jet lag and my stomach's adjusting back to good old American food (yay preservatives!!). Hope you like!

By the way, I'm thinking of changing my pen name. Any suggestions?

Chapter Eight, part two: Lookalike

Continued from Chapter Eight, part one:

_"I'll try. See you later." Melody grabbed the camera and headed out the door. In a minute or so she had arrived at the evidence lab, where she could see Ryan Wolfe through the glass, processing the victim's clothing and effects. Standing outside the lab, she felt the cold beginnings of nervousness between her shoulder blades. She tried to push it away and failed, instead feeling her eyes drawn to him as he moved with intensity and a certain grace around the lab, his domain._

Why does he affect me like this?_ she asked herself for the second time that day, ashamed for acting like a little girl with a crush. _Come on,_ she told herself. _Get over yourself. Go in there, do what you need to do, and leave. It's not a big deal, just give him the camera and go…

She stepped forward and knocked hesitantly on the closed door. Inside, Ryan flinched, looked up, and then beckoned her inside once he saw who it was.

"Um…hi," he said, brow furrowed in confusion. "Is it my turn already?"

"No, not yet. I'm just passing through," she said flippantly, in an attempt to disguise her minor freak-out. "Eric asked me to drop this off with you on my way to the morgue."

"Are those the prints from the vehicle?" He was all business, and Melody followed the CSI's lead.

"Yeah, just a few partials we found. Looks like they were pretty careful, wiped down the interior and exterior."

"Seems a little too careful for a senior prank, they're all about bragging rights and who's the most daring."

"True, but it's not careful enough for a murder."

"The guy's chest was crushed. What, you think he _just happened_ to be sitting up there and that car _just happened_ to get dropped on his chest?"

"I'll let you know." Melody raised her eyebrows at him, about-faced crisply, and didn't stop walking until she reached the doors of the morgue. An assistant answered her knock and gave her another spare lab coat and a new set of gloves, then let her into the autopsy room, where Alexx was just beginning to examine the body that had been found on the roof.

"Melody, is that you?"  
"Hey, Alexx."

"Come on in here, girl. I want to show you something."

Melody was skittish and eyed the body cautiously.

"He's not gonna hurt you, baby. Come here."

Melody approached slowly, fighting visions of Andrew lying pale and cold in this boy's place. She looked down, preferring a caved-in rib cage to her painful memories.

"Look at this bruising," Alexx said, pointing. "This is post-mortem."

"_Post_-mortem? How?"

"You tell me. Look at these chest x-rays." She produced the documents and clipped them to the light box.  
Melody saw it almost immediately. "These fractures don't make sense. This looks like blunt-force trauma."

"You're right on. I'll know for sure once I open up his chest, but right now I can see evidence of multiple blows, probably broke his ribs and sternum and punctured his lungs. But nothing broke the skin, so no one noticed anything."

"So in that case… the roof isn't the primary crime scene. The body must have been moved."

"Correct. There were no signs of struggle on the roof or in the car, but there's bruising on the victim's hands and face."

"Meaning he could have gotten into a fight."

Melody picked up one of the victim's hands. The skin on his fingers had grown over the tips of his bitten-down fingernails, dulling the usual sharp edges that are so helpful for picking up trace evidence of an attacker. "So much for DNA from the fingernails."

"Yeah, I couldn't get anything. But we found some trace in his hair, which might lead us to another location."

"We have to go back?"

"Someone does. But let's wait until after the post before we go searching, maybe we'll see something helpful."

"Wait- we? You want me to help with the post?"

"Oh, no, honey. No offense, but there's no way I'm risking our necks like that. You watch. That's it."

"Can't say I'm too terribly cut up about that. No pun intended."

"You're hilarious."

"Can I help it? A week ago my partner was lying there just like this guy."

"Oh, honey... how are you holding up?"

"I'm, ah... I'm having some trouble sleeping," she admitted reluctantly.

"Nightmares?"

She nodded.

"Oh, honey. I know it's hard."

"Please, Alexx. I can't talk about this. My past can't enter this place. It's the only way I'll be able to make it.

"I understand. I won't push you. But if you want to talk…"

"I know where you'll be."

"Then get outta here and let me do my job."

Melody left the room without a backward glance. Once she had made her way up to the desk that overlooked the autopsy room, she sat and watched the shining silver of Alexx's scalpel as it slid cleanly through the pale, discolored flesh of John Doe's chest. The sight made her unusually nauseous and she redirected her gaze to the young man's face.

_Andrew! _ Her mind screamed. There he was, lying on the sterile metal table, as still and cold as he had been on the hot pavement.

_No. It can't be. _ she spun away from the glass wall, sinking down into the chair. Her breath came hard, her hands trembled. With difficulty she calmed herself and attempted to see the situation objectively.

_Stop. This isn't possible. Andrew is dead. Buried. You saw him. _Hesitantly she glanced at the monitor that bore the dead man's image. Nothing. The man bore only the slightest resemblance to her deceased partner. She looked harder, searching for the cause of her reaction. Nothing. The face was vaguely the same shape and size as Andrew's, but the features were heavier, the skin was tanned and freckled, and then there was the fact that he was probably ten or twelve years younger than her partner, and he looked like it.

Alexx's voice came over the speaker, voicing Melody's thoughts.

"Poor boy," she said sadly. "He had a lot of life left to live."

" 'Had' being the operative word here," Melody finished.

A few minutes later Alexx spoke again.

"Well, here's your COD," she said.

"What's that, Alexx?"

"Zoom in on his chest, I'll show you."

Hesitantly Melody tapped at the computer until it showed a close-up image of the man's chest cavity.

"His chest showed plenty more bruising, ante-mortem."

"Did you catch a pattern?"

"No, and that's what interested me. It wasn't consistent. I didn't figure it out until I opened him up and I saw the fractures."

"His ribs- they aren't consistent at all with the scene. There's fractures all over the place."

"Baby boy was in a fight."

"A fight to the death- and he lost."

Alexx nodded. "Repeated blows to the chest splintered his ribs, drove them into the lungs. He suffocated. Petechiae in his eyelids confirm it."

"And no one even noticed because nothing broke the skin."

"Blood from the lung stayed inside the chest cavity. Broken ends went in, not out."

"Beatings are crimes of passion... Okay. So you're upset at someone. You go, confront them, throw a few punches. What's the first place you're going to aim at? The face, right?"

"True. But that's not the most painful area by far. If pain is your goal, go for the soft spots- the belly, the groin."

"Yes, but the face- the face is special. It's the first thing you notice about someone. It's generally the first thing you judge someone on. It's very closely associated with a person's identity and personality. Damaging or destroying someone's face is the ultimate victory- you're defiling the very essence of who they are. Why do you think so many serial killers mutilate their victims' faces?"

"So his killer beat him to death... impersonally?"

"So it would appear. Maybe he didn't have any weapon available?"

"Good. So our crime scene is probably outside, or somewhere without a lot of loose objects, like a warehouse."

"Which is consistent with the roof."

"Could be."

"Is it all right if I come down?"

"Why don't you wait 'till I'm done."

"Sure."

For the next hour or so Melody sat and watched Alexx work, not batting an eye as the ME removed his organs or even as she opened his stomach and emptied its contents into a jar. She worked efficiently, and soon everything was stapled and covered up and Alexx beckoned Melody down.

Back by Alexx's side, she stared at the body with a strange look on her face. She breathed in deeply, held it for a moment, then exhaled and turned to her companion.

"Do you smell chlorine?"

"It's more than likely," Alexx responded, confused. "They probably use some sort of chlorine-based cleaner on the equipment."

"I don't think that's it. May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the body.

"Go ahead."

Melody leaned close to the victim and sniffed gingerly. She paused for a moment, then straightened with the dead man's hand in hers. She breathed on it and sniffed again. Gently she laid the appendage down and turned away from the table.

"Anything?"

"Definitely something. This guy practically reeks of chlorine."

"I washed him off; he shouldn't have anything on his skin."

"I know, but chlorine, like any other strong odor, has a way of almost soaking into the skin if you're exposed to it regularly."

"What are you thinking? He worked with bleach? Someone used it to wipe him down?"

"No… I'm thinking chlorine water. A swimmer."

Alexx nodded her approval. "Very well could be. What are you going to do?"

"I… ah…"

"Come on, honey. You can do this. What do you need to know?"

"I need to know… if I'm right?"

"Okay. How are you going to prove your theory?"  
Melody thought for a minute, staring off into space with her brow furrowed. "Do you have his stomach contents?"

"Right here," Alexx said, reaching for the container of brownish liquid. What do you need?"  
"I want to run them through the mass-spec, see if there's chlorine water in there. A lot of times, swimmers ingest a bunch of water during practice. By the smell coming off this guy, I'd say he hasn't been in the shower since before his last practice."

"Good. Then what?"

"Well, if it's positive I'll start looking at swim teams, starting with the school he was found at. Interview his teammates, coaches, see if anyone might have had motive to kill him."

"And if it's negative?"  
"Well, the smell has to have an explanation."

"Okay. Good. Go run these to Ryan. And you can stick with him, I'm done with you."

"All right, Alexx. Thanks so much."  
"Any time, hon, any time at all. And go easy on poor Ryan."

"Yes ma'am!" Melody picked up her samples and was about to make her exit when Alexx's voice stopped her.

"Melody?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you call H and let him know what we found?"

"Of course." She left (again), cell phone in hand with Horatio Caine on speed-dial.

"Miss Carver."

"Hey Horatio. I just left Alexx in the morgue. John Doe was already dead when he ended up on that roof. The car didn't kill him. He was beaten to death- COD was suffocation due to a punctured lung."

"So the roof isn't the primary crime scene then?"

"No. But the vic smelled strongly of chlorine, and I'm looking into the possibility that he's a swimmer or something of that nature. I'm on my way to Trace right now with his stomach contents.

"All right. Call me when you find something."  
"Yes sir."

She set off through the halls of the crime lab and within a few minutes, found herself staring through the clear glass door of the trace lab for the second time that day.

_To Be Continued… again…_

To My Reviewers:

JauntyChick: Sorry for the confusion, I probably should have said that it was a flashback kind of thing, but I'm glad you still liked it. I'm glad you liked Aaron, I modeled him after a good friend of mine. He will probably come into play more if I do a prequel.

LSG: Oh, God… I'm really sorry. I can't even imagine what it would be like to lose someone like that…

TJ: I know, it was really random. I wrote the whole speech section during a rather nostalgic period and adapted it to fit the rest of the chapter afterwards. I probably should have added a flashback thing and whatever _before_ I posted it. Oops.

Legolasfreak2: Thanks! I'm glad you liked it so far, hope that last chapter didn't confuse you too bad.

Daxy: Sorry to make you wait! Somehow I don't think this chapter was worth it. Maybe the next one…

Luf100: It's good to know that people were still reading that far after an update. I'm thrilled that you liked it and I hope you still do.

To Everyone Else:

Please review! I welcome your questions, comments, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.


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